


Oh, I Miss the Kiss of Treachery

by fxthers



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Homestuck AU, Humanstuck, M/M, and karkat is a fan, bandstuck, in which dave is the singer in a band, occasional sexual stuff but mostly hilarity and fluff, pretty sure a lot of dumb shit is going to happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fxthers/pseuds/fxthers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you would be damned if you were going to miss the Grimdark concert because of a cold. </p><p> </p><p>In which Dave is the lead singer of a band, and Karkat has front row tickets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. how about... you?

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you would be damned if you were going to miss the Grimdark concert because of a cold. 

You've already swallowed back four tylenol’s, and wrapped a scarf grudgingly around your neck, sniffling slightly at your own red-cheeked reflection. You scowl at yourself, determinedly holding your nose high. You don’t care if you're going to be coughing through the whole thing, you've waited half a year for this god-damn event, and hell if you are going to let your aches keep you away from the music. 

If anyone asks, you love every aspect of Grimdark. Yes, the dark, growly hipster music, that you usually wouldn’t touch with an eighteen foot pole. You know every word to every song, on their one debut album. You can mirror the guitar lines with your fingers, or tap the drum beats on your knee. And, despite how much Sollux snarks about it, you do genuinely like the music. In fact, the discovery of the band had absolutely nothing to do with how attractive one of the lead singers is - nothing at all. Dave Strider is definitely not the reason you stayed up until two in the morning to win front row tickets, or why you actually bought the album, instead of downloading it off some shitty torrent website. 

Nothing at all.

Fuck, ok, Dave Strider is gorgeous. The rest of the band is pretty hot too, but he kind of steals the show. Grimdark consists of the previously mentioned Dave Strider, his sister, Rose Lalonde, John Egbert, and Jade Harley. Dave is mostly on vocals and lead guitar, sometimes adding weird shit to the music with his turn-table set. Rose, the other singer, is usually tucked behind a keyboard, and sings the higher harmonies with her brother. As siblings, they have the same, fair, blonde hair, and delicate features. They're a huge hit in the industry world. The others, John and Jade, have darker complexions, and completely own what they have. John has a bit of a nerdy smile up front, but with his hair styled back and contacts in, you have to admit he has a nice fucking aesthetic. He usually plays bass, or sometimes lead if Dave is fucking around with a baseline on the tables. Jade, with long hair almost down to her thighs, is back on drums. And hell, she knows every curve of those instruments, and exactly how to pull out a clash from the cymbals. 

Yeah, you know you're in ass-deep. You could care less. 

A few impatient knocks drag your attention away from your bathroom mirror, and you hurry towards the front door, slipping on a pair of the only nice shoes you have. While you're scrambling to pick up your shit - wallet, keys, medicine - the bangs on the door get louder, and you can hear Sollux on the other side telling you to, “Hurry the fuck up!”

When you finally throw the door open, Sollux is scowling slightly, eyes flipping across your outfit. He snorts, raising his eyebrows, and you pretend your cheeks aren’t burning a little.

“You can shut the fuck up, ok,” you cut across before he can speak, voice coming out a little patchy thanks to the disgusting amount of mucous sitting at the back of your throat. 

“You look like fish-douche, hipster-bag,” Sollux remarks, referring to your mutual friend, Eridan Ampora. 

“I’m not getting more sick, ok,” you grumble, as though it’s only the scarf that makes you resemble Ampora. Honestly, you know your whole outfit is more out-there than usual, but fuck if you can’t help wanting to look good in front of the band. With black, almost too-tight skinny jeans, a red, button-up, short-sleeved plaid shirt, a dark grey coat, and the stupid, cream-coloured scarf, you know you’ll fit in with the other idiots at the concert. You also know the jeans make your ass look great, and the shirt is Dave’s favourite colour (which also happens to be yours - it’s fucking meant to be).

“Whatever KK. Speaking of ED, him and AA are gonna meet us there,” Sollux checked his phone, sliding into his old, shitty black Nissan. You follow suite, slamming the passenger door behind you. You can almost feel the car groan, as though its gotten too old to hold anyone. You don’t blame it. 

“Gamzee said him and Tavros would say hi if they saw us,” you mutter, throat still burning, as you pull out your own phone to check your own messages. All in all, there were seven of your group heading to the concert, but only you and Sollux would be sitting together. You’d only won two tickets, and you couldn’t think of anyone else you’d like to sit up there with you. Eridan probably would have creamed himself if you asked, but you honestly didn’t want to deal with his shit during one of the best nights of your life. 

Once Sollux skids out on to the road (he drives way faster than he fucking should, you note, grabbing on to the edges of the car seat) he shoots you a grin and shoves in the Grimdark CD. 

“You fucking idiot, we’re going to see them in an hour!” you yell over the music, but it only takes three words of the chorus for you both to start singing obnoxiously loud, and neither of you stop until you get to the venue.

* * *

In retrospect, screaming for an hour before the concert was probably a bad idea. You’re seated up front, right in the middle of the first row, Sollux texting idly beside you. You have no idea how he’s relaxed right now, because your whole body is tense. Despite the dry hacking you can’t quite cover up, you’re pretty sure you’ve never been this excited in your life. You feel a little light-headed, because holy shit, you’re about to see Dave Strider in person. 

“Aren’t you a little-“ cough, “-Excited?” you ask angrily, tapping Sollux’s head.

“Calm down KK, it doesn’t start for another ten minutes,” Sollux flicks your hand away, and when you peer down at his screen, you realize it’s because he’s still texting Aradia.

“Why don’t you just sit with her?” you snark, very aware of how your voice wavers. Great, knowing your luck, you’d lose it before you were even half-way through the show. 

Sollux finally looks up, rolling his eyes, though he's smirking. “What, afraid I’m not enjoying my time with you KK? If you wanted this to be a date, you should have said.”

You roll your eyes, smacking him up the back of the head as he continues to snicker. 

“I just want to be with someone who fucking-!” more coughing, “-Appreciates the band!”

“Calm your tits ok, I’m telling AA we’ll see her after,” Sollux sighs, stuffing his phone into his pocket. Just in time, you think, because the opening act is getting on stage. 

And holy fuck, your heart just did a flip. You’re going to see _him_ within an hour. 

The opening band is pretty good, a sort of odd group of men called The Felts. They play a few classy blues songs, but mix in some acoustic, and even dubstep, into the background. They have some really unique mixes. You'll remember to look into them later when you’re back home. 

And then the openers are heading off, and people are changing the instruments out, and you pretty much can’t breathe you’re so excited. Sollux tries to pat your arm and tells you to calm down, but you just shush him and wriggle around in your seat, ignoring the building need to cough. 

Finally, _finally_ , all the lights shut down. The chatter in the venue stops abruptly, and you feel your heart leap through your ribs, because it’s finally fucking happening. 

A long, thin stream of piano notes dance through the silence, the first sounds of the night. An eery purple light flickers to life behind the band, and you can make out Rose Lalonde in the centre of the stage, standing over her keyboard. The light illuminates her black dress, and as she sings the first few notes to their song, _Little Shadows_ , your heart threatens to rupture. 

More lights flicker on, adding John and Jade’s silhouettes to the stage. Jade taps her drumsticks lightly on the top cymbal, and John brings in a few base lines, setting up the quiet beginning of their opener. 

Once all the lights go on, your heart stops altogether, because Dave Strider is right in front of you. You don’t know how you missed him coming on stage, but as he slams down on his guitar and lets the first pounding lyrics float from the microphone, you think you’re going to pass out. 

He’s dressed in black pants, that might have passed for dressy if they weren’t so tight. Some chains hang down around the top, covered by an equally black vest, striped with off-black vertical lines. It’s covering a purple under-shirt, their chosen colour for the band. He’s also wearing his signature shades, hiding most of his expression, but you can tell he’s immersed in his music. His arms have been left bare, and the sinewy muscles move elegantly as Dave strains notes from his instrument. 

And his voice.

Oh god, you thought he would be worse in person, but he sounds _so much better_. The album doesn’t do him justice at all, not when his lips are forming sickeningly sweet tones, and growled under-notes, and those high-pitched, gently placed emphases. It takes one note for you to admit you’re completely in love with him. 

You almost don’t notice Sollux or anyone else around you singing, but as the song reaches the chorus, you join in, giddy bubbles of air bouncing through your chest. Your throat hurts like a bitch, but its so worth it to feel like your breath is mixing with his. 

Soon the first song is done, and they’re transitioning straight to the next, and you almost feel high dancing with the crowd in front of the stage. Of course no-one is still seated, and you don’t really care who’s body is brushing against your own, because you are too caught up in the music to pay them any attention. 

You can feel heat radiating from your body, and you know your cheeks must be flushed. Your lips are probably raw, from chewing on them nervously before the show, but none of that matters; when your voice inevitably worsens through each mouthful, you ignore it pointedly, because you’ll be damned if you’re not going to sing every note. You never want to forget this night. 

Dave owns the stage through the whole show. His body should be illegal, you think, and the way his hands grip the microphone sends shivers down your spine. You’ve never been more jealous of an inanimate object in your life. His delicate fingers, whenever they stray from the guitar, clutch the stand almost feverishly, as if he needs to sing to survive. Blood pools in your ears, and you feel your breath whisk away, because behind his glasses, you almost swear you make eye-contact. 

You would have thought it was just your imagination - because really, you aren’t worthy of catching Dave Strider’s attention - but then he fucking smirks, straight at you. You think you’re going to collapse. 

After the song, they all head off stage for a planned intermission between the finale. You will swear to god that Dave Strider smirks at you again as they’re leaving. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, knees shaking, and you settle briefly into the chair. Sollux looks down at you, raising an eyebrow.

“They’re pretty good live,” he admits, however, not commenting on your inability to stand properly. You’re reluctantly grateful, because its a tiny bit embarrassing. 

“Good?” you try to demand, ready to go on a tirade of why ‘good’ doesn’t cut it, except nothing comes out. You try again, earning only a wheezy passage of air instead of words. Fuck, you’ve officially lost your voice. 

“Ugh,” you manage quietly, the breathy whisper the only sound you can manage. Sollux full on cackles, and you flip him your middle finger, scowling. What a douchebag. 

“Well at least this shut you up,” he comments, pulling out his phone again. You let out an annoyed huff, rolling your eyes and gesturing to his screen again. _Really?_

“AA is justht telling me…” he trails off, eyes widening. Wow, if his lisp came back, it must be one interesting text. You frown a little, trying to lean in and see what the message says, but Sollux snaps it away, face turning red. You raise an eyebrow, trying to depict, _What the fuck is up with you?_ in a body movement. 

“Uh, fuck, I gotta go,” he swallows, and oh, wow, one of those messages. You don’t even bother trying to disguise your disgusted expression. Well, it's about fucking time, you suppose, though you don’t know why the hell he’s leaving right before the finale. Idiot. 

“Do you mind? Can you ride home with sthomeone or-“ Sollux starts, but you just shove him impatiently, as if to say, _Get the fuck out of here_. He grins at you, saluting mockingly, and hurries off without another word. 

What a douchebag. Some friend he is. You honestly don't give a fuck, because the lights are dimming again, and you can always catch a ride home with Gamzee. 

The finale starts off a little like the beginning, light dim, only purple flickers dancing around the edges of the stage. This time you know there isn’t anyone on stage yet, but you hear Dave’s voice echoing around the venue. This isn’t a song you know, though you remember reading that the band arranges a different finale every night, throwing in a few covers before ending with their biggest hit. You actually recognize this song - _Disintegration_ , one you’ve seen Rose tweet before. It's easily as good as the original, and now that Dave is singing, you decide its one of your new favourite songs. 

Once the song reaches its peak, everyone rises from the stage, eliciting screams from the crowd. This time John is slamming against a guitar, taking lead, and Jade is playing a smaller drum-set, banging out different sounds than the last one did. Rose is still at her keyboard, but this one is noticeably more intense, covered in a few different sets of keys. Behind everyone, now working away at his turn-tables, is Dave. 

They’ve all switched outfits, and now he's clad in purple skinny jeans and a sleeve-less, button-up top, not completely unlike your own. Except he also has leather bands around his wrists, and headphones hanging around his neck, and he looks really fucking good. 

They cover a few songs, Rose taking over on the main vocals, with Dave occasionally backing her up. He seems more intent on his turn-tables, and you can tell this is what he really loves about being a musician. His fingers slide seamlessly over them, head bouncing lightly, sending his mussed, fair hair in light waves around his head. For three songs he stays there, until the beginning strums of a song you actually recognize turn on, and a sudden pain in your chest makes you realize this is the true finale. 

You don’t want it to end, but you are also determined to enjoy this last song long enough that it will last you a lifetime, so you train your eyes back on Dave. He’s left a generic beat going with his turntables, and taken centre stage again, holding only his microphone. He really pours everything into this song; voice a little scratchy, but never pitchy, you might have described Dave's singing as screaming, except the sound coming out is far too bittersweet for that. You can make out small beads of sweat around the base of his neck, and god, you want to pull him down and taste him. 

You’re a little glad Sollux left, because you’re basically ravishing Dave with your eyes at this point. You want to trace his hips, and tug those stupid clothes from his chest, to see what he really looks like beneath the show. You can almost feel his emotions thrumming beneath his hard shell, and you’re certain you can make out his creased eyebrows in the outpouring of everything he hides from his fans. It isn’t a secret that Dave Strider walks around like nothing affects him, but in front of you like this, shouting his soul to a crowd, you feel like you understand. 

And christ, is he looking at you again?

“Ok, ok… We’re going to switch this up,” he’s panting a little, and the crowd is screaming back at him, pulses of energy from all corners of the venue. 

“We want someone to come sing with us for the chorus, I think you all know how it goes,” he continues, smirking again, and you think your heart is going to break if you don’t start breathing properly. Oh god, he's so attractive. You can't stop staring at his throat, or his shades, or his- hold on. 

“How about… You.”

Suddenly your whole body has gone numb because Dave Strider is bending down, hand outstretched at you, grabbing your arm. You’re too stunned to say anything, throat effectively clogging up as you catch what you think might be his gaze, but its impossible to tell beneath his shades. 

“Don’t be shy.”

And you fucking let him pull you up on to the stage, because you can’t focus on anything, can’t think at all, don’t remember that you’re sick or that you hate being in front of people, because Dave Strider is looking at you and the world has stopped. 

“Come on, guys, start up the beat,” he instructs casually, and the other band-mates start playing. You want to look at them, but you can’t look away from _him_ , and your palms are so sweaty you don’t think you can even hold the microphone. 

“What’s your name?” he asks quietly.

“Karkat,” you try to say, but it only comes out as a whisper, and suddenly you remember.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Your mouth opens again, but of course nothing comes out, because your fucking voice isn’t working right now. Your throat croaks out the barest of whispers, one you’re sure he can’t hear, especially not over the music and the people. It would be a miracle if he even heard your name. 

“Can’t speak,” you’re trying to say, face heating up, because the entire crowd is waiting for you to pick up on the chorus. You whisper the words too, but obviously Dave can’t hear them, and for a second he stares at you in utter confusion. You manage a small cough, and point to your throat, shaking your head.

And then he’s laughing. If you weren’t so mortified to be standing in front of everyone, you might have appreciated the rough, pleasing notes. Unfortunately you are too preoccupied being terrified.

You start to chew on your lip, wanting to apologize and get the hell off stage, but he’s wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close, snickering into the microphone.

“I would pick the one person in here who’s lost his voice,” Dave announces good-naturedly, and the crowd laughs back. Your face is still red, and your heart won’t stop, but you manage a crooked sort of smile. And god damn if Dave doesn’t return it.

“Ok, then, everyone help out for… Karkat, was it?” he asks, and you feel faint, but you nod your head. He knows your name.

“Everyone help out Karkat, then. Let’s give him a voice, yeah?”

And everyone in the crowd starts singing, screaming the lyrics up at you, and you’ve never felt so free. A rush of adrenaline settles into your bones, and you can see why people do this, perform up here in the heat of the lights. You think you’re grinning, and the room is spinning a little, but Dave’s arm is still around your waist. 

“Are you gonna sing with me?” he whispers in your ear, and you almost jump, feeling his breath tickle your neck. Sparks must be flashing off your skin, because every nerve feels alive. 

“Yes,” you mouth, breathing deeply, and he starts up again, bringing the microphone close. And you mouth every god damned word, right up to the end, while he keeps you clamped firmly to his side. You’ve never felt so uncomfortable, or so _right_ , in your entire life. You never want this to end. Your lungs can’t seem to get enough air, and yet they’re still working, breathing the words alongside the singers. 

The feeling begins to heighten, however, at the very end of the song. As the crowd is screaming and clapping, and the lights are dimming, you suddenly feel too hot and faint. Everything begins spinning, and you think you might be sick, and stars are dotting the corners of your eyes.

And suddenly your legs are buckling, and you’re barely aware of anything except a voice muttering some sort of curse, and arms supporting your weight as you drift into blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit ok I'm doing an actual fic.
> 
> If you want me to keep writing/posting, please let me know! I would love to, seeing as I sat down out of the blue and wrote for (I shit you not) six hours straight. I think I'll be uploading every week or whatever, probably on Sunday nights because that gives me a whole weekend to sort out my shit and get more done.
> 
> Anyways, let me know if you like it!  
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (edit: do you ever go back and re-read the first chapters of your own fic and think WOW THIS IS SHITTY because I just went through that, and I swear to god I am going to fix these messes eventually oh m y.)


	2. My legs aren't fucking broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider, and you have an armful of hot man on your stage. Literally.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you have an armful of hot man on your stage. Literally.

“Fuck,” you mutter, as Karkat collapses sideways into you. You catch him easily, and he isn’t very heavy, but his skin is almost burning to touch, and you’re kind of grateful that at least the room is black and no-one can tell what’s happening. (Except of course Rose, because she always seems to know when shit is afoot. Your psychic theory lives on.)

“Bring him off stage,” she whispers to you, managing to cut through the explosive screams of the crowd. You want to tell her that no shit you’re bringing him off stage, but you keep your mouth shut, carefully picking him up and carrying him to the exit. 

John and Jade are waiting for you two, each looking post-show elated until they see Karkat in your arms. 

“Oh, shit, is he ok?” John asks, and you raise one eyebrow.

“Jesus, obviously he isn’t ok,” you almost laugh at the embarrassed huff John gives you, but now’s really not the time. It isn't every day you have a fan topple over on stage. 

“I’ll grab Kanaya. Bring him to the green room,” Rose commands, and you push away another snarky remark, heading around all the stage-hands and shit. Maneuvering the crowded halls is a lot harder with someone in your arms, despite how small he is. You can hear Jade explaining what happened from behind you, and assuring the crew that someone is coming to look after him.

You ignore everything, double checking that Karkat is still breathing. Yep, his heart is still beating, though it sounds a little fast. You think back to being on stage, the rush of performing crawling over your skin. You love the release of a show, the entire affair of shouting the shit you won’t say anywhere else. 

And god, when you saw him staring at you in the pale, violet light, you thought he was feeling it right with you. You'd gotten physical shivers, seeing the light bounce from his eyes, and his tongue poking against red lips. He’d been flushed (not as bad as he is now), enough that your blood boiled and you couldn’t stop watching. You usually keep an eye on the people in the crowd - you love being able to look at whoever you want, taking in the faces connected through your music - but fuck if you’ve ever felt that sort of spark. You knew immediately he was going to be the one you took onstage. That sort of passion is addictive.

You still can't get over that look he had when you’d bent down to him, reaching out, grasping at the fabric of his red shirt. God, you love red. You thought for a second he was going to push you away, but he climbed right up, almost straight into your arms. You’ve never wanted to hear someone’s voice as bad as you'd wanted to hear him. 

Not that that part worked out too well.

You finally get to the green room, and gently lay Karkat on one of the couches. His chest is still moving, thank god, and he coughs lightly, as though he’s starting to come to. You hope so, cause you’d feel really fucking bad if you had to send him to the hospital. You take off his scarf, realizing he must be dying underneath it, and his eyes squint tighter. He’s gorgeous, you find yourself thinking, noting the edges of his jaw and the curves of his cheekbones. Damn, those collar bones, too.

Not that you should be thinking about any of that right now. God, Dave, stop being so fucking creepy. 

“Move over for a moment,” Kanaya’s voice surprises you, but you step back without a hitch, watching her bend over your patient. She lays a damp cloth on his forehead, and sticks her fingers against his neck, counting quietly. 

Kanaya Maryam, your close friend and manager, more or less runs everything. She mothers the band, organizes each show, makes sure everyone wears the right things, and is probably the sole reason reason you’ve been able to make a name for yourselves. Most bands have stylists, and make-up artists, and stage managers, the works - but your band just has Kanaya. 

She also doubles as your temporary doctor, having gone to medical school for several years before she decided it wasn’t interesting enough. 

“Hello? Can you hear me?” she asks gently.

Karkat’s eyes flicker open briefly, then close again, squishing shut against the light. 

“Excuse me, mm-?”

“Karkat,” you supply quietly, and she acknowledges the name with a small dip of her head. 

“Excuse me, Karkat, if you’re awake, can you please say something?”

Karkat’s eyes flutter again, and he opens his mouth, but only a croak comes out. He looks thoroughly confused, and still too out of it to properly realize where he is. 

“He lost his voice, so I think that’s about as much as you’ll get,” you remark, and Karkat’s eyes flick over to you, widening considerably. Now he looks awake. You can’t help but feel your own breath hitch, and manage a small smirk in his direction. 

“You have a fever,” Kanaya begins explaining, and Karkat’s eyes dart over to her again, apparently trying to comprehend what happened. Once he does, its pretty obvious, because his cheeks flare even redder, and he lets out a small groan - followed quickly by a bought of coughing. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking embarrassed.

“Hey, you don’t need to apologize for collapsing,” you snort, walking over to sit on the couch next to his legs. He immediately tenses, eyes trained on you with intensity, still traces of disbelief dancing behind them. You almost laugh, but decide to go easy on him, seeing as he’s currently burning a fever on your band’s couch. 

Speaking of, the rest of your fellows are heading through the door. Jade is the first to bounce over to Karkat’s side, hands on her hips and bottom lip pouted just a little with concern. When she sees he’s awake, she beams at him.

“You’re alive!” she smiles, and Karkat probably would have turned even redder if he could, eyes moving through each of your bandmates.

“Karkat, right? Are you feeling any better?” John’s asking, bending down next to Kanaya. “You sure gave us a shock, heh.”

“Uh, I’m-“ Karkat doesn’t get much else out, even at a whisper, and he coughs again. You’re a little amused, because if anyone looks starstruck, its this poor kid in front of you. You would have mentioned it, except you still feel a little bad that he collapsed on stage. It was sort of your fault for dragging him up. 

Well, his fault for being so attractive, you counter silently. 

“John, Jade, perhaps you should let our guest breathe,” Rose suggests from behind. She has a hand on Kanaya’s shoulder, and you don’t miss the quick expression they share.

“The owners said we may use the green room for as long as we like,” she adds, giving you a sideways smile, a little too suggestive for your liking. You would roll your eyes if anyone could see them. 

“I will go get some medicine, Karkat,” Kanaya begins to stand, but Karkat grabs her sleeve, mouthing something. He lets out a frustrated sigh when nothing comes out, and digs around in his pockets to pull out a phone, a wallet, and finally, a bottle of tylenol. 

Kanaya smiles gently, and revises her words to, “Water, then.”

“Do you two want some as well?” Rose asks, looking over to John and Jade. They’d struck up a quick conversation about the show, and how the acoustics worked really well in the venue, until Rose interrupted. 

“Yeah, I’ll come with you two,” Jade smiles brightly, heading for the door, "I heard they provide snacks too!". John looks happy enough to just hang out with you, but Rose snatches him by the sleeve, muttering something in his ear. He snorts into his elbow, then grins at you, letting himself be dragged off. This time you do roll your eyes. Jesus, it’s not as if you're about to screw the poor guy. He just fainted. 

With a breath, you turn back to Karkat, who is briefly ignoring you as he scrolls through his phone. From the faint grimaces, you guess some people have been texting him. 

“So,” you finally say, and he looks up, eyes wide again. You thought maybe his blush had gone down, but its back now, and he swallows once.

“Uh, sorry for dragging you up on to stage,” you say, running a hand through your hair. “I probably should have noticed you weren’t feeling well.”

Karkat looks a little affronted, and after a second he goes back to his phone. For a moment you think _wow, rude_ , until he turns the screen to you.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING? THAT WAS THE BEST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

You grin, raising your eyebrows at the huffy expression on his face. “Enjoy the show then?”

He types into his phone again, pausing to contemplate something, before continuing.

YES, IT WAS INCREDIBLE.   
YOU SOUND BETTER LIVE.

“Well shit, won’t argue with you there,” you scoot back to lean against the other end of the couch. He shuffles his feet over so you have more room. “My vocals pack so much heat, if the sun finally caved in, my singing could keep Earth alive.”

Karkat snorts. 

I ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE BIG-HEADED, BUT THAT IS REACHING NEW LEVELS OF IN-FUCKING-CREDIBLE. REMIND ME NEVER TO COMPLIMENT YOU AGAIN.

You shrug a shoulder, suppressing a laugh. You like him, you decide. You liked him before, because despite the fever, he’s still pretty fucking hot, but he isn’t treating you like a celebrity or whatever. Well, he still looks a little starry-eyed, but you like to think you have that effect on most people. 

Another brief coughing attack wracks Karkat’s thin frame, and you watch him carefully until his breathing evens out again. He rolls his eyes, apparently noticing your change in demeanour. Before you can feel a little embarrassed, he’s shoving his phone at you again.

ITS JUST A FLU, ASSHOLE, I’M NOT GOING TO KICK THE BUCKET.

“Well fuck, excuse me for wanting my number one fan to get better.”

HOW WOULD YOU KNOW HOW BIG OF A FAN I AM.

“That was some pretty fierce eye-roaming, Karkitty.”

He seizes up a little, puffing out his chest as though he really is a cat, and you want to snicker again at how obviously flustered he is. 

FUCK YOU, I WAS ENJOYING THE SHOW.

“Want another one?” you wiggle your eyebrows, and before Karkat can do anything more than shove you with one foot, the door is opening and Kanaya is carrying a water bottle to his side. 

You smirk over her shoulder at him, and he shoots you another disgruntled glare before he’s kicking back two tylenols in one go. He’s about to shake out a couple more when Kanaya grabs his hands, tutting lightly. 

“Dosage is two per four hours,” she states, taking the pills before Karkat can complain. Not that he can do much more than let out another huff anyways. 

The other band-members trail in too, and they all come to sit on chairs (or in John’s case, on the floor) near Karkat’s couch. They’re discussing the show more in depth now, like they usually do, picking out the flaws, and the stuff that went good this time around. This was one of your best shows, and you all know it, but you also know it can get better with more practise. 

“Those first notes you did were perfect that time, Rose,” Jade points out. “Hit every one!”

“I agree, your voice was spectacular this evening,” Kanaya adds, and Rose smiles lightly at the two of them, waving her hand lightly.

“Your drums were amazing as well,” she replies, facing Jade. “I really do think taking out the smaller drum set for the finale worked well. It exemplified your skill.”

“Mhm, it was fun! Sort of limited my movements, so the sounds were a bit choppy.”

“Which kind of works for us,” John shrugs, mouth still quirked up with his after-show grin. Seeing him in his stage make-up reminds you of the time you fell head-over-heels for your band-member. Before any of you decided you wanted to make your music happen, he’d been your best bro. Once he’d gotten out of his dorky glasses, he’d also been your really hot, but unfortunately completely straight, best bro. You harboured feelings for him for a good year, pining silently until you saw him as his usual self underneath all the make-up. Yup, he was still your dorky Egbert hiding there, and eventually you were able to move on. Now, watching his mouth split into an equally quirky grin, you wonder how you ever found him hot in the first place. He’s more like a cute, befuddled, stuffed rabbit. 

Your eyes drift back to Karkat, and you feel your chest squeeze a little. You're trying your best to ignore your impulses, but your brain has decided to take complete note of everything you can make out. You aren’t really sure what's setting you off with him, but holy fuck, he is pretty. 

Karkat catches you watching him, and he types something into his phone again, showing you. 

DOES EGBERT ALWAYS GO ON LIKE THIS?

You tuned out your friend’s blabbering, but sure enough, John has gotten onto the topic of another one of his shitty movies. You have no idea how he manages to bring them up when you’re talking about your performance, but he hasn’t missed an opportunity yet. 

Not wanting to disturb the conversation, you pluck Karkat’s phone out of his hand. He lets out another annoyed-looking breath, but you ignore him. Instead you go into his messages and text a quick “yo” to your own number. You notice, with some surprise, that he has a good 37 unread messages. 

Tossing his phone back, you pull out your own, and click on the unknown number.

yeah pretty much  
john is into the shittiest movies its hilarious

Karkat looks a little taken aback, but after only a brief glance, texts back.

YOU ALL LOOK LESS RIDICULOUS ONLINE.

are you kidding i always look good

YOU LOOK LIKE A HUGE ASSHOLE. WHO WEARS SHADES INDOORS, IN THE FUCKING DARK?

people cant handle whats behind the shades  
if life was one big pool id be in the deep end 

I'M SURE YOUR TRUE BEAUTY IS ASTOUNDING. WAIT, DID YOU JUST QUOTE A SHITTY POP SONG?

maybe  
but you knew it didn’t you

FUCK YOU STRIDER.

i bet you’d like that

And you stop texting, because Karkat lets out a huff, and the others have caught on by now. You don’t say a word, pocketing your phone, and press your shades back into place. 

“So, Kanaya, is he getting better or what?” you ask, breaking the silence.

She rests her hand against his forehead, receiving another uncomfortable look from Karkat, before nodding. “Yes, I think his fever is coming down. Hospitalization shouldn't be necessary. You should be all right to leave whenever you wish, if you have a safe way of getting home.”

Karkat suddenly looks uncomfortable, glancing back down to his phone. 

“Nah, fuck that, I’ll take him home,” you say, standing and stretching. You're not one-hundred percent certain what you're getting yourself into, but screw it all, you're definitely intrigued (and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t see his eyes flash to where your shirt rode up). 

“Are you sure?” Karkat whispers, and you think maybe his voice is getting a little less scratchy. The water probably helped. “I can call-“ he trails off, coughing a few times into his sleeve, “-I can call my friend Gamzee, he’ll take me home.”

“Its cool,” you shrug, as though its no big deal. Pfft, it's not. You're not ragingly attracted to him or anything, and you're totally not being weird. You're pretty fucking good at avoiding the public eye, anyways, so you probably won't have to worry about being followed or whatever. You're only in an underground indie band, so it's not like too many people are trailing you in the first place. 

Karkat seems to seriously debate your offer. “Well, if you're offering...”

You nod once, and without further thought, you dip down to pick him up bridal style. Karkat cringes in surprise, wriggling lightly in your arms.

“What the everlasting shit are you doing! Put me down, my legs aren’t fucking broken,” he whispers furiously, which only makes him seize up and cough again. You tsk lightly, holding him a little tighter. You can feel the rest of the band’s gazes on you as you walk away, but you have passed the point of caring what they think. 

"Come on, how many people get to say they've been carried out of a concert by Dave Strider."

"One too many, now!"

You haven’t been this interested in someone in a long time, and god damn if you aren’t going to see what happens next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of all the positive feedback, I decided to update early. I have a feeling that will be happening frequently. 
> 
> Thank you so so much to everyone who's reading so far!! Your comments make my day. Bless your hearts.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Also, I'm in the process of trying to make the texts look like their pesterlogs. I think I'll have to screw around for a little before I get it. If anyone has tips, it would be greatly appreciated!~~
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: fuck yes got the text figured out


	3. irony has nothing to do with hella jeff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you just got stuck in a car like a fucking bride.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you just got stuck in a car like a fucking bride. 

You want to shout at Dave, and tell him how idiotic it is to drive a random fan home, and maybe add that if he doesn’t stop touching you you’re going to pass out again. Instead you fume in silence, ignoring how fast your heart is racing. At least the interior of his car is nice. Well, mostly nice. You think you see a puppet in the back, whatever the fuck that is for, and there are some shitty drawings taped to the dashboard. 

“What is hella jeff?” you whisper, and you actually think Dave turns a little red, though it’s impossible to tell in the dark with those stupid shades on. 

“He’s a character from the best webcomic out there. He’s always been around. He’s like a father and a son to me.”

“This is part of your ironic bullshit, isn’t it?”

“Irony has nothing to do with hella jeff.”

But you see the quirk of Dave’s mouth, and let out a sort of exasperated sigh. He’s kind of annoying, but in a way that makes your stomach clench up. Its sort of like bantering with Sollux, except you really want to touch Dave’s face.

You still don’t know how this is happening. 

You didn’t think you’d ever say you were happy about passing out, but now is one of those rare times that you being a sick asshole has actually worked out. Not that you can really expect anything to come from this - Dave is part of a band, and you live in a shitty apartment and take college classes. Maybe he just wants to get out a good word out for himself? Or, god forbid, make you a booty call. Fuck, maybe he's secretly a good samaritan, who are you to know.

“So where do you live, anyways?” he asks, breaking through your thoughts. You glance over, watching the lights of passing cars briefly glint over his sunglasses. Your stomach does another funny flop. 

“It’s forty minutes away. I should have said,” you realize. 

“I don’t care. But, you know, if you’re not up for a long drive, you can just come back to my place.”

For a second you think you hallucinated, because that sounded really fucking close to Dave Strider inviting you to his house. You feel a little funny, and you wonder if your fever is coming back. 

“Um,” you manage, but can’t really formulate a proper response. 

Dave laughs, and you definitely don’t watch his adams apple bob underneath the smooth, pale skin along his throat. “Right, a one-way stop to Casa de Strider. Once the bitches arrive, they never wanna leave.”

You manage not to roll your eyes, but its a close call. "If you are insinuating that I'm your bitch, you can pull the fuck over, Dave Strider, because the last time I checked, you're the one carting _me_ around."

Dave gives you an almost surprised glance, mouth quirking up again. "Fair enough, Prince Karkitty," his voice dips into what you imagine is supposed to be a regal tone. "I'll be your lowly hand-maiden if I get to help you undress." 

You snort indignantly, glaring at his figure across the car in an attempt to hide the blush racing up your cheeks.

Thankfully, your phone chooses this moment to buzz again in your hand, providing a welcome distraction. It also pulls your head out of whatever thought-provoking trail it was about to go down, and you're reminded of all the unread texts you’ve gotten. Right. You try not to cringe, staring down at your mobile-device as though it personally attacked you. God only knows what your friends have been saying. You start with Gamzee, as he's just messaged you again. 

KaRbRo lOoK At yOu gEtTiNg yOuR mOtHeRfUcKiNg sInGiNg On  
MiRaClEs aRe hApPeNiNg AlL oVeR tOnIgHt  
YoU CoMiNg hOmE WiTh uS KaRbRo  
TaVbRo SaId YoU cOuLd HaVe ThE fRoNt SeAt :o)  


You try not to grimace at the thought of explaining your current situation.

NO, I’VE GOT A RIDE. I WON’T BE HOME FOR A BIT. I’M STAYING WITH A FRIEND.

Moving on, you pick Aradia next, a little surprised she would even text you. Wasn’t she busy doing god-knows-what with Sollux?

kk ii2 gamzee fuckiing hiigh or diid you actually get pulled on 2tage  
fuck thii2 ii2 aa'2 phone  


You roll your eyes.

diid you 2iing wiith them  
you lucky 2hiit  
iif ii diidn't ju2t have a fanta2tiic fuckiing niight ii would be really pii22ed that ii left  
liiterally fuckiing niight  
ii 2eriiou2ly love aa you have no iidea  
karkat fuckiing re2pond already  
don't make me hack your phone agaiin  


WHY THE STEAMPISSING HELL WOULD I WANT TO KNOW ANY OF THAT, SOLLUX? I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS. AND NOT IN A WAY THAT I DON'T CARE IF YOU SAY ANYTHING OR NOT, I DON'T CARE IN A WAY THAT MEANS NEVER FUCKING TELL ME ABOUT THEM AGAIN.  


You move on with a scowl, reading Terezi's next.

K4RK4T 1 C4N SM3LL HOW FLUSH3D YOU 4R3 FROM B4CK H3R3 H3H3 >:]

Yeah, no point responding to her. She won't stop trolling you for the rest of the night, and she's probably the only one that could figure out what really went down.

Gamzee texted you back in the meantime, and you wonder why your friends only give a shit when you don’t want them to.

Ok cOoL KaRbRo. WhO ArE YoU sTaYiNg wItH?  
JuSt wAnT To mAkE SuRe yOu'rE Ok :o)  


I’M FINE, STOP PRYING. YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE ME ANYWAYS.  


Most of the rest are from Eridan, and you almost don’t open his messages, but curiosity is a bitch. Besides, you don’t know when you’ll get a chance to respond once you get to Dave’s place. 

Once you get to Dave’s place. That is a nice fucking sentence infraction. You should probably be panicking a little more over it. 

wwhy the fuck didnt you say you wwere in the front roww kar  
i thought wwe wwere better friends than that. wwerent you sayin the other day that wwe should talk more an stuff. wwe coulda done that tonight.  


After this, you scroll past the next fifteen, all of them just more of Ampora bitching about how you should have been more considerate. Jesus, he really knows how to go on a rant, and that's coming from you. This is why you didn’t want him near you; he probably would have talked through the whole god-damn thing. 

youre touchin davve strider you lucky fucker  
you cant evven sing wwhy wwould they pick you anywway  
youre as red as a crab kar this is fuckin hilarious  
ok i admit that wwas pretty nice of strider to take your vvoice thing into consideration  
but if you let me sit wwith you in the beginning maybe wwe both wwoulda gone up there huh  
thanks again for thinkin of your pal here  
wwhere are you anywways gam is gettin concerned  
and by concerned i mean hes being really fuckin annoyin  


You really don’t want to deal with Ampora right now. Besides, while you were reading, Sollux started texting you as well. You let out a small groan. 

“Got a lot of shit going on?” Dave asks innocently from across the car, and you scowl in response. As if he didn’t cause all of it. You huff out a breath, and don’t bother answering, going back to your phone. Where the fuck were you?

you're ju2t jealou2 you aren't home wiith 2omeone hot  
briingiing u2 back two what the fuck happened  


I’M SURE YOU HEARD IT ALL FROM GAMZEE. DAVE YANKED ME UP ON THE STAGE TO MAKE ME SING, AND MY VOICE BOX STILL WASN'T WORKING. ITS LIKE IT WAS WAITING FOR THE PERFECT MOMENT TO DESTROY MY DISAPPOINTINGLY DESOLATE LIFE. IT JUST TURNED THE HELL OFF, AND HAD A FUCKING HAY DAY. HAH, THERE YOU GO KARKAT VANTAS, HAVE A DICKCHAFING GOOD TIME LOOKING LIKE AN IDIOT IN FRONT OF THOUSANDS OF HIPSTERS.  
AND THEN I PASSED OUT.  


2eriiou2ly. je2u2  
ii would a2k iif you're ok but your biitchiing ii2 at iit2 u2ually vii2co2iity  
2o diid you go home wiith gamzee or what  
ii gue22 ii can piick you up iif you’re there 2tiil but ii wiill al2o kiick your a22  


NO I’M FINE, I’VE GOT A PLACE TO CRASH. YOU CAN STAY WITH YOUR… GIRLFRIEND NOW? FUCKBUDDY? SEXUAL AROUSER? I DON’T CARE JUST DON’T COME GET ME. AND NEVER TALK ABOUT YOUR PERSONAL AFFAIRS AGAIN.  


You don’t know why you aren’t telling everyone exactly who you’re with. Maybe you just want to keep Dave to yourself for a bit. You won’t admit it, but the small yank in your stomach feels a tad possessive, and you have to remind yourself that you’re only a fan. Deep breaths, Vantas (which are considerably hard, considering you're sick, and you're heading to a celebrity's house).

Your phone buzzes again.

WhAt dO YoU mEaN, KaRbRo? I bElIeVe WhAtEvEr YoU sAy.

Well, maybe you can mention something to Gamzee. He is your best friend. 

OK WHATEVER. I PASSED OUT ON STAGE, THE ENTIRE BAND HAD A POWOW OVER MY COMATOSE BODY, AND NOW DAVE IS TAKING ME HOME.

Were those shivers? Fuck, yeah, you have goosebumps. Friendly reminder that you’re still sitting next to Dave Strider.

No WaY, kArBrO. mOtHeR. fUcKiNg. MiRaClEs.  


WELL, YOU’RE PROBABLY THE ONLY ONE WHO WOULD BELIEVE ME, SO FUCK. IF ANYONE ASKS, TELL THEM WHATEVER. I’M NOT ANSWERING MY PHONE AGAIN FOR AWHILE.  


SuRe KaRbRo. HaVe A nIcE nIgHt. ;o)  


DON’T CLOWN WINK AT ME.  


HoNk. :o)  


Finally throwing down your phone, you lean your head back with a sigh, only just starting to feel the weight of this whole exhausting affair hanging on to your chest. You jump when something pats your arm, and jerk your head to look at Strider. He’s still got his eyes on the road, but he’s smiling a little. Fucker.

“Almost there, Karkitty.”

“Stop calling me that. I don’t resemble a meow beast, thank you very much.”

“What did you just call it?”

You feel your cheeks grow red again, and sink a bit lower in the car seat. You can’t believe you used Nepeta’s stupid word. No, fuck that, who is he to judge? Cats are evil, as far as you're concerned. 

“Shut your food chute, Strider. It’s a more accurate term for those balls of fuckery. Never trust a cat,” you whisper, having a few flashbacks to Nepeta's house. It had been a god-damn war zone. 

Dave is still laughing as his car pulls into a gated community. You are so completely unsurprised that you don’t blink an eye, until you pull up to a silver coloured, two-story building. It looks really out of place next to the other primp and proper houses, built more like its a shitty apartment than anything else - albeit, with an actual front yard. You think it's two or three stories, but it's hard to tell from your angle. Wait, is that a rose garden?

“This is where you live?” you ask, disbelievingly.

“What? This is the best fucking house in this stupid place.”

You snort, but get out of the car once he parks. No going back now. You feel a little awkward walking across the lawn, but you're determined to see whatever is inside this piece of shit.

“Come on,” Dave waves you forward, unlocking the front door and stepping inside. It’s sort of… Well, average, you guess. There’s no crazy colours in the front entrance, and there are two set of stairs. One leads upwards, to where you assume the main part of Dave’s house is. There are a couple pairs of discarded converse scattered on a shoe mat, and a small table with a dish labelled ' _throw ur fuckin keys here_ '. It seems appropriate.

You shuck off your shoes and follow Dave up the stairs. Almost immediately, you regret considering his house normal. 

Posters are plastered haphazardly around the living room, with no discernible pattern. You don’t recognize most of it, but you assume its mostly ironic, because what the fuck does a unicorn with Nicholas Cage’s face on it have to do with anything? 

Also, more puppets. There seems to be a large pile in the corner, all of them vibrant colours, with plush rumps and creepy noses. You have no idea what to make of them, so your eyes trail over the flatscreen tv and leather couch, coming to land on three katanas hanging off the wall. They're a little scratched up, but all of them have the shine of being freshly polished. 

“I’m afraid to ask,” you eventually growl out in a whisper. Dave, who is watching you with silent amusement, doesn't offer any sort of an explanation, and nods his way towards the kitchen instead. You hope there aren't more puppets in there. 

“Hungry? I’ll make soup,” he offers, leading the way. You might have been tempted to politely refuse, except you are really fucking hungry, and a little cold now that your fever is wearing off. At least, you hope that's your fever wearing off. 

“Yeah, sure,” you begin, about to add ‘thanks’, when something flies at you from behind the couch. A figure, almost twice your height, is suddenly right in front of you, hands outstretched. Before you can even squeak out a protest, you’re picked up and thrown over a shoulder. You would have started screaming if you were able to produce any sort of sound, but only a few anxious breaths escape.

You hear Dave say one thing behind you: “Fuck- Bro!”

And then you are taken captive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm sorry. The tags did say weird shit was going to happen. 
> 
> ~~also I really fucking love bro~~  
>   
> 
> Anyways thank you again to everyone reading, you're all amazing!! I haven't enjoyed writing this much in a long time. I appreciate all the comments/kudos with all my heart.


	4. I thought you were in a band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider, and your bro just stole your friend.

Your name is Dave Strider, and- NO. FUCK NO. YOUR NAME RIGHT NOW IS STILL KARKAT VANTAS, BECAUSE YOU JUST GOT FUCKING KIDNAPPED BY AN OLD MAN IN ANIME SHADES. 

Your limbs are flailing for something to hold on to, but they don't reach anything useful, and the one strong arm wrapped around your middle stays firm. You bounce down a hallway, before the man sets you down in a dark room, snickering. All you can do is stare at him in silent horror.

“You’re new. Dave doesn’t usually bring pets home,” the man notes. From the light of the hallway, you make out a white polo shirt, a baseball cap, and tufts of spiky blonde hair. You realize, with a start, that he's probably related to Dave. This offers a little relief, until you see the sword in the dude’s hand. 

“Hey, whatever you want, just don’t hurt me, jesus-“ you begin to whisper, when Dave bursts into the room as well, holding his own sword.

You wish that was an innuendo. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

The two lunge for each other, and you cringe back against the wall, chest heaving. They’re full on _attacking one another_ , swords scraping together. You watch them in asphyxiated terror, waiting for one of them to slice the other’s one’s head off. They’re stupidly fast, too, darting back and forth almost too quick to follow. The casual swinging of their weapons makes this look like this its a regular occurrence. Hell, maybe it is. Despite your terror, you have to admit there's an artistry to the movements. It's almost graceful when the metal clangs together, and the men dart around each other. They keep at it until both come to an abrupt halt, Dave’s sword right at anime-shades’s throat.

You think you whimper, but your pride won’t let you call it that. 

“Getting slow, Bro.” Dave isn’t even out of breath. 

“I decided I like your friend.”

“Yeah, he’s cool- Karkat?”

You’re still staring at them, shivering. 

“Whoa, hey. Its ok, this is normal,” Dave says, eyebrows raised a little. He bends to put his sword down, as if to show you its fine. Fuck.

“No, this is not normal, you two almost killed each other,” you whisper furiously, still clutching the wall. You notice one of your hands is literally balled over your chest.

“Nah, it’s called kali,” the man says, accepting his defeat pretty easily, and dropping his own sword. “It’s actually a defense-based martial art. Name’s Dirk.”

“This is bro,” Dave continues, bending down to squat next to you. “Sorry, I thought he was out. I would have told you he’d do something stupid.”

“Keeps you on your toes, grasshopper.”

“Yeah, except you scared the fuck out of my house guest.”

“Sorry. What were you going to make, soup? We don’t have any in the cupboards, but I’ll get some. Make it up to you two,” Dirk says the words earnestly, but the edges of his mouth are upturned, and suddenly you don’t want soup as bad as you did before. 

“If it gets you out of the house,” Dave mutters, and Dirk only waves one hand in goodbye as he sashays - literally, his hips fucking _wiggle_ \- out the door.

“I thought you were in a band,” you manage to whisper, glaring at Dave. He offers you a quick smile, and actually looks a little apologetic.

“I honestly forgot he was here. Sorry, Karkitten.”

“I might have accepted if you called me by my name,” you grumble, getting up and trying to seem nonchalant about whatever the fuck just happened. “You have a weird family.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t always a famous heart-throb,” Dave shrugs.

“Let me guess, you were always a heart-throb though.”

“Now you’re catching on.”

You wander out of the room - you guess it must have been Dirk’s room, because there was a fuckton more of those puppets, and he seems like the type - and Dave leads you back to the living room, where you crash on his couch. Jesus, today has been long and incredibly weird. Who knew Dave Strider could decapitate a man with a shitty ninja sword? And who would have guessed you would find that mildly attractive? Maybe you do still have a fever.

“I’ll put the kettle on. Bro says tea is good for the soul,” Dave says, heading for the kitchen. You don't protest, settling further into the leather cushions. 

You’re finally alone for a minute, and you have to take a really fucking deep breath. At least you aren’t coughing anymore, you note, and almost burst out laughing at how you can even be happy about something that stupid when you're sitting in Dave Strider’s house. Granted, its a weird as fuck house. You’re not sure how you’ve been lucky - unlucky? - enough to end up here. If you weren’t so exhausted, you probably would be bouncing in your seat. Or, you know, worried over the fact that you just watched two men have a sword fight over a pile of phallic puppets. 

There’s a blanket draped over the back of the couch, and you tug it down, wrapping it around you. It’s nice and warm, and curling up doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. The only issue is that your eyes genuinely begin to droop, and this is honestly the worst time to sleep. How many other opportunities are you going to get to kiss- shit, you mean talk, to Dave Strider?

Well, you remember, you do have his number. And with that thought, you let yourself drift off, snuggling deeper into the couch.

* * *

Your name is Dave Strider, and you haven’t seen anything as precious as Karkat sleeping on your couch. 

You literally have the urge to _aww_ at him, and fuck if that isn’t the official descent into domesticity. Ugh, you barely know him, how is he this adorable? He’s curled up in your blanket like a cocoon, snuggled into the corner of the leather cushions, face relaxed. You guess its been a pretty hectic day for him. 

Trying not to smile, you put the tea down next to him, on the off-chance he wakes up. Hopefully he’ll feel better tomorrow, because you’re not sure how much longer you can wait before you make it really clear what you want to do to him.

Of course, not while he’s sick. Poor baby. 

You settle down on the side of the couch he isn’t sleeping on, and flip through channels on the tv until shitty pop music is humming quietly from mtv. Ignoring Iggy Iguana, or whatever her name is, you pull out your phone, noting the amount of texts your band members have sent. You guess Karkitten isn’t the only popular one tonight. 

Jade seems the most harmless, so you start there.

dave!!! :D  
is karkat feeling better?? did you guys get home ok??? tonight was so much fun I can’t wait until next weekend!!!  


hey harley sup  
yeah hes fine hes rolled up on my couch in a fucking blanket burrito  


You don’t expect a reply right away, so you move on to Kanaya. You aren’t really surprised she wants to check up on her patient. 

Hello Dave, I Simply Wanted To Inquire About Mr. Vantas’s Current Physical State.   
Rose Has Just Informed Me That My Sentiment Sounded Suggestive. I Did Not Mean It As Such. My Apologies.  
Is He Resting?  


hes sleeping now  
and yeah hes cool  
bro kind of freaked him out but he scares everyone  


That Is Good To Hear. I Trust You Will Take Good Care Of Him?

yeah hes in good hands  
im a great doctor kanaya dont worry  
hey is rose still with you?

Of Course You Are. And No, I Am Afraid Not. She Has Gone Home.

fuck i have to answer her then

Yes, Perhaps You Should Do So Now.

talk to you later then kanaya kisses

You don’t even want to know what Rose has been saying. You let your gaze trail back to Karkat’s sleeping form, still in the ball you’d found him in. His breaths seem a little shallow, and he’s breathing out of his mouth, but you don’t think he looks any sicker than he did before. 

You should probably get him another blanket. 

As you cross the hallway towards your room, the front door swings open, and Bro kicks his way in holding a case of beer. You aren’t surprised. 

“Did you get the soup?”

Something smacks the back of your head, and you turn to look down at the offender, a cardboard box with _‘Instant Soup Packets!’_ printed on the up-turned side in bright yellow text. Your bro is kind of a douche, but at least he remembered. 

You grab an extra blanket off your bed, and open your phone again as you’re walking back, scanning John’s messages now.

hey, do you wanna hang out soon? we haven’t played halo in forever and i think its about time i kick your ass again!  
oh and is karkat feeling better? he seems like a nice dude :B  


Karkat seems to be a popular trend with your bandmates right now. You can imagine they’re gossiping behind your back. At least, you’re pretty confident Rose and Kanaya are.

When you get back to the couch, you almost sit on bro. He took your side, and doesn’t appear to give a shit about Karkat sleeping next to him. He’s just tipping back his beer, flipping channels. 

He looks chill, but you know its a fucking challenge. 

Not saying a word, you squish in between him and Karkat, casually scooping the latter’s legs up so they’re resting across your lap. You think you hear the smallest snicker from bro, but you continue to ignore him, responding to John. 

yeah its been too long since i smothered my floor in egbert ass  
even though halo is lame af  


no its not! haha your floor must miss me.

jesus how am i friends with you

you love me and my ass, there’s no point denying it! we are the best palhonchos, dave. it is us. oh hey, speaking of ass, did you get any?

i had so much ass i could have made as ass pool  
egbert i could have swum through anus i was so ankle deep in asshole  


ew

and by asshole i mean my bro he basically kidnapped karkat and scared his poor lil heart

that sounds like something he would do. i think your bro scares everyone at first.  
also that was way too many times to type ass.  
speaking of which, he just messaged me to say he’s reading over your shoulder.  


still an asshole  
k talk to you later bro  
and john  


You’re definitely not checking Rose’s texts now that Bro’s hanging over your shoulder. He's such a mother hen. You go see what Jade has replied with instead.

awww that’s cute!!! you should bring him with you to the next concert, I want to talk to him some more!!

why dont i just give you his number and he can wake up to a wall of excited green text

oh my gosh could you?? we’ll be best friends!!! :D

whatever jade just don’t smother him ok  
i have to go so talk to you later  
if rose asks ill message her tomorrow  
get it over with quickly  
rip the fucking band aid off  


haha ok dave talk to you later!! have a good night!! ;)

You finally shut off your phone, watching a few minutes of the cartoon bro has on. 

“So do you want to ask me, or are you just going to keep pushing,” you eventually say, peering through the side of your shades at your bro. He hasn’t moved, but you know shit’s going on in his head. He always gets like this when he wants to talk to you but doesn’t want to bring it up. His passive-aggressive behaviour used to confuse the hell out of you as a kid, but as you've gotten older, you've learned to read him a lot better. 

“You don’t bring people home very often,” he turns now, and you can see the darker shadows where his eyes are behind his shades. “Ever. You’ve never brought someone home before. Aside from the band.”

“So?”

“So,” Bro repeats, raising his eyebrows. You guess you expected him to do this.

“He fainted when I brought him on stage. I’m being hospitable as fuck.”

If you didn’t know bro so well, you wouldn’t notice the small smile at the edge of his mouth. You know this means you’ve got his blessing, whatever the fuck you need that for. He probably just prayed to the gay asshole gods of smuppetville: _‘Oh please cocklaeger, let Dave have a successful ass-ship with his kitty friend’._

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth from the image that conjures up. Yeah, maybe bro is a dickbag sometimes, but he's your dickbag. You remember what it was like when you were a kid, and it was just the two of you against the world. It was a rough start, and bro worked more than he was home, but you got by on instant noodles and cheetohs. He’d even saved up for your turntables for three years, finally surprising you on your sixteenth birthday with a big ass box under the tree, and a sappy note about making him proud or something (you're pretty sure he was mocking Mr. Egbert). You still have it in your wallet.

Finally relaxing, you’re really tempted to curl up next to Karkat. Except, you know thats fucking weird, because you’ve only just met him and groping him in his sleep is going a little too far. 

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, slipping out from his legs pretty easily. Guess your own, cold, lonely bed will have to do. “Don’t freak him out any more.”

“I promise,” bro responds, and you can’t decide if he sounds genuine or like he’s fucking with you. You're pretty sure he won't do anything stupid.

With an internal sigh, you head back to your room, decidedly leaving your door open. If Karkat needs to find you in the morning, it shouldn’t be too hard. 

Cracking your neck, you shuck down to your boxers and climb into bed, only realizing how tired you are once you’re under the covers. Yeah, today has been a long day. It’s been pretty fucking good though.

You hope tomorrow is better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you lovelies I would update fast.
> 
> So yeah I hope you all are still enjoying this! Judging by the comments thats a yes??? I'm serious when I say I read all of them with a big-ass smile on my face, you all make me very happy. I've never been so excited to post stuff on the internet. 
> 
> Also, the romantic bit will get a move on in the near future. I realize I've been slow but I kind of have a thing for suspense. ~~also I'm really enjoying the texting thing but if its getting to be too much let me know~~


	5. is that my blanket?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Karkat Vantas, and if someone told you you would be waking up in Dave Strider’s house this morning, you probably would have laughed until you got an awkward boner.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and if someone told you you would be waking up in Dave Strider’s house this morning, you probably would have laughed until you got an awkward boner. 

One of those things happens. Thankfully not the second. 

Maybe you’re a little hysterical from the fever wearing off, but an odd sort of chuckle (it is _not_ a fucking giggle) escapes at the thought that you just woke up on your favourite band-member’s couch.

Dave Strider is probably the weirdest human you’ve ever met (aside maybe from his brother). He’s outrageously attractive, passionate about music, weirdly ironic, and also the biggest fucking dork. He has swords on his god-damn wall, _and_ knows how to use them. He’s infuriating, in the best toe-tingling way, and you kind of want to know how he feels beneath your fingers. 

You guess since you haven’t been scared off by now you can confirm this is kind of a big fucking crush. Honestly that… Freaks you out? You’re not supposed to develop legitimate feelings for the singer of a band. Then again, he was never supposed to notice you. What right did he have dragging your sick ass on stage? You probably could have gone the rest of your life hopelessly pining, and now he's right under your nose. 

Yeah, holy fuck, you’ve got it bad. 

Shifting on the couch, you start to wriggle out of your blankets, only to realize a second one’s been draped over you. It smells… Like Dave, you realize, breathing into the fabric. Mmm. You can’t put your finger on what exactly Dave smells like, but you think there’s strawberry and cinnamon mixed in there somewhere. Its sort of musky, and really, incredibly delicious. 

You decide to wrap his blanket around you as you sit up, under the pretence that you will be cold if you don’t. You completely ignore the fact that his house is adequately heated. 

Yawning as you stand, you almost knock over a mug on the coffee table. Oh yeah, Dave was making tea for you before you fell asleep. You sniff contemplatively, then pick it up, and wander towards the kitchen. You’re feeling pretty hungry now, but you don’t really want to root through the cupboards, so you decide to heat up the tea instead. 

The kitchen seems mostly devoid of posters and/or puppets, so you decide its a safe zone - until you swing open the microwave door.

You’re relatively certain that firecrackers are hazardous in there. 

After a brief period in which you contemplate the possibility of them going off by themselves, you pull them out and set them on the counter. Jesus, Striders are a special brand of different. Thankfully, you discover the microwave isn’t plugged in - at least they have a little insight. 

You set the tea inside and leave it for two minutes to heat, curling Dave’s blanket closer around you, while you stifle another yawn. You keep getting waves of disbelief, half-waiting to actually wake up back in your own, shitty bed. 

No, you’re still here. 

Grinning, you pull your phone out of your pocket. Usually you hate sleeping in jeans, let alone dressy shirts, but you guess you were too tired to give a fuck. You didn’t crack your Samsung’s screen, which is completely unsurprising, seeing as its fucking indestructible (unless you’re talking about function, cause this piece of shit dies more than you do when you’re versing Sollux in WoW).

You have a few more texts from your friends, but you deign to ignore them and check out an unknown number instead. You wouldn’t have even answered if the first line didn’t say your name. Who…?

hi karkat!!! :D  
its jade. from grimdark. which you probably would have guessed just from my name haha.  
dave gave your number to me so I could ask you how you are!! so, how are you feeling?? everyone else is curious too. I hope we didn’t scare you off from our music. :o  
oh, i guess you’re sleeping now, aren’t you???  
well, when you wake up, send me a text!!! i think we’ll be good friends, especially if you keep hanging around dave ;)  
speaking of which  
how are you two getting along???  
has there been  
you know  
face touching???

Completely ignoring the fact that Jade Harley from Grimdark texted you, your eyes widen at the last bit, and your face threatens to heat up again. Were you that obvious? Even worse, did he mention something to her? Not to get your hopes up, but you your heart does another weird skip against your ribs. The microwave beeps in the background, but you ignore it.

How are you going to respond to that?

HI JADE. UH I’M FEELING OK, THANKS FOR ASKING. AFTER SEEING DAVE’S PUPPET FUCKERY I HONESTLY DON’T THINK ANYTHING WILL SCARE ME OFF YOUR MUSIC.

You contemplate answering the second part of of her message, but a bang distracts you, followed by something that sounds vaguely like a curse. Pocketing your phone, you pull Dave’s blanket a little closer around your shoulders, and peek around the corner down the hall. One door out of three is completely closed; one, that seems to be attached to the bathroom, is completely open; and, the last door on the left is only partially ajar, with a bit of light shining through the crack. If you had to harbour a guess, you would say the sound came from the last one. 

Assuming this is Dave’s door, curiosity gets the better of you. You head quietly down the hall, dragging the blanket with you, and pause outside. Logically, you assume he would have closed the door if he didn’t want anyone coming in, so you swing it open before you lose your courage. 

The lighting is dim, but you can make out a lot stuff strewn across Dave’s room. Its sort of messy, mostly covered in stray pieces of clothing. He has a computer set up in one corner, connected to an alarming amount of wires and speaker systems. Most of the amps and other stuff look like they would be used for recording, and judging by the small microphone, you imagine this is where Grimdark started out. Along another wall is a set of turn-tables, which look a little smaller than the ones he uses on stage, but still impressive enough that you’re sure some interesting music could be produced from them. There are other knick-knacks scattered across the room as well, but the strangest thing you see is a full shelving unit dedicated to what appears to be dead things. 

And there, hanging half off the bed, with his legs tangled in blankets and his upper-body ass-deep in puppet, Dave is lying motionless. He has his shades on - does he ever take those fucking things off? - but he’s still breathing, so you assume he’s not actually in trouble. In fact, he appears to only be in his boxers, and your eyes trail along the patches of toned skin before you can stop them.

“Sup.”

That was definitely not enough time to appreciate Dave’s body. You avert your eyes and scowl, partially at yourself, then let out a ‘hmpf’. “Good to see you’re not dying, asshole,” you whisper, deciding to keep quiet on the off-chance that the elder Strider is still sleeping.

“Is that my blanket?”

Flipping him off, you leave before your face gets any closer to a tomato. He can always come and find you once he's actually up. Ugh, you hate how attracted you are to him. (And you still don’t take off the blanket, fuck that.) 

Back in the kitchen, your tea is sufficiently steamy now, and you pluck it out of the microwave. After a tentative taste, you discover its earl grey, with milk and honey. Normally you’re not a huge fan of any type of tea, but knowing Dave personally made it for you makes the drink infinitely better. You hum appreciatively around another sip, letting out a sigh.

The small kitchen window is pried open a little, and a soft breeze wafts through, cooling the air just enough that its fresh against your tongue. You love mornings, even if you’re not particularly a morning person. There’s just something refreshing about knowing a whole day is ahead of you. 

You should have known the peace wouldn’t last more than a moment. Two arms wrap suddenly around your middle, effectively scaring the shit out of you. Your mind jumps to the incident last night, and the flight part of your brain activates as you automatically leap away from the figure. Tea splashes from your mug on to your shirt, and you feel burning water specking your face and your trousers, spilling out of the mug and on to the floor.

“Whoa, didn’t mean to startle you, Karkitty-“

You whirl around to face Dave, emotion finally spiking. You can only handle so much teasing when you’re sick. “God _damn_ it Dave, what are you doing!? You knew I’d be jumpy after you and your brother had a fucking battle royale over my body last night! I was trying to enjoy this nice cup of tea you made me, and now its on my shirt, and my face, and everywhere except in my fucking stomach. Can you have just a little appreciation for my personal relaxation? Wasn’t it enough to embarrass me in front of a million hipsters?”

Dave’s mouth is actually hanging open a little, and he’s giving you a weird look, but damn it all, you’re not done. When you start ranting, people shut up and listen. 

“Ever since you pulled me up on to stage you’ve been giving me these weird-as-fuck signals, and I have no idea what you expect from me! What do you want, a part of my savings account? Is this house-trip some weird way of getting fans to stick around for a long time? Do you treat everyone to a little round of ‘come chill with the cool famous kid’? Oh, I’m sure lots of people fall for this, but you’re going to have to try harder to impress me, Strider! Am I just a fucking b-?”

And then his lips shut you up. You let out a surprised squeak, breath hitching as his hands grab your waist, and his mouth glides over yours. Your brain shuts down, caught somewhere between disbelief, and frustration, and _wow this feels fantastic_. His lips are warm, and a little chapped, and urging you to do something, but you just stand there. And then, you’re kissing him back, arms looping around his bare waist, eyes closing as instinct kicks in. His hands are fisted in your wet shirt, and he’s pushing you back against the counter, assaulting you with his tongue. Shivers trail up and down your sides, and for a moment you think the firecrackers on the counter did go off, because all you can see are flashes of light. You stifle a moan as his teeth scrape your lips, and he pries them open, pushing his way roughly into your mouth.

Not to be outdone, you push back, fully intending to explore him too. Dave tastes like mint, and you think he must have brushed his teeth before he came out, but you can’t decide how he accomplished that is such a short time. You honestly don’t give a fuck. 

You push Dave back, growling a little, and swing him around so he’s pressed against the counter instead. Now you have better leverage, and bring your hands up to hold his face in place while your tongue dances across his teeth, pausing to tangle briefly with his. Your lungs are starting to burn, and you almost don’t care, except Dave pulls back and moves to your neck instead.

As Dave nibbles and sucks at the base of your throat, you let out a string of curses, head rolling over to give him more access. Now you’re being pushed back again, far enough that you end up against the fridge, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat thrumming through your body. His hands are roaming up your sides, trailing over your hips and up under your shirt, nails scraping lightly against your abdomen. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, trying your best not to make too much sound. This still seems to encourage Dave, because he moves slowly down your collar bone, then back up towards your jaw, nipping and kissing every inch of skin along the way. 

When he reaches your mouth again, he tugs your face back towards him, and kisses you a little slower this time. You savour his touches, hands winding up into his hair, holding him close as your lips push insistently at each-other. 

Eventually he pulls away, and you both pause, staring. You’re pleased to note you’re not the only one battling for breath. 

Holy shit, hold on, did you just kiss Dave Strider? Adrenaline is pulsing through you, making you hyperaware of where his hands were. You feel like he left electrified fingerprints all over your body. Someone call the forensics team, you have proof you made out with a celebrity. Jesus, you're dizzy.

You can feel your hands trembling, and your heart racing, but the worst part is that you have no idea whats going through his head because he’s still wearing those fucking shades.

One breath. Another. Still silent. Finally, you ask, “What was that for?”

You don’t think he’s going to answer for a while, and the silence stretches again. But then, Dave just shrugs one shoulder, looking almost looks like he’s battling a smile. “I _really_ fucking like your voice.”

And thats probably the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life, but its enough to send you crashing into him again, pulling him back for another heated kiss. 

“Do you mean-“ you kiss his lips, “- To tell me -“, his cheek, “- That you’re _making out_ with me -“ his jaw, “- Because I can talk now?”

Dave is making a sort of keening in the back of his throat, and it goes straight to your pants. 

“You’ve only been whispering until this morning,” he mutters, groaning when your hands roam up his back, tracing his shoulders, “And did you ever mention how attractive your voice is? Nope, I don't think so. Completely unfair. Holding out on m-mnnng. Me.”

Attractive? You can feel pulses in your fingers, and your lips are attacking his again, effectively stopping any form of speech. You can feel his hands all over you, and you really want to get this wet fucking shirt off. Apparently Dave has the same plan, because he’s pulling back, hands ripping at the buttons. 

“You’re the only person who’s ever said they like my voice.”

You almost regret the words once they’re out, because Dave stops, face tipping back to look at you. His eyebrows are arched over his shades (which are hanging a little to the left on his face), and he doesn’t do anything for a moment. You can feel your cheeks heating up again. You’re about to say something, anything, when his hands cup your face with a sort of intimacy you’re not used to.

“I love your voice,” he says, very clearly, and kisses you softly. And you aren’t sure why, because you never thought it bothered you, but his words strike a weird chord in your chest. How the fuck does a guy you literally just met, under the weirdest of circumstances, know exactly what to say to melt your insides?

And that’s the last straw. You yank off your shirt the rest of the way, because fuck it all, you’re going to sleep with Dave Strider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ESCALATION.  
> And not just the romance if you catch my drift. *wonk*
> 
> Wow ok so I guess I set myself up for a smut chapter here?? Thing is, I haven't written smut before. ~~Haha great decision, glad I took the fic down a route that makes me uncomfortable. A + great following through.~~
> 
> So... I am apologizing in advance for really dumb smut. Also I guess I have to change the rating, no matter how shitty everything will be. Uh but if anyone isn't comfortable with it anyways, I'll make sure you know exactly what to skip over. 
> 
> Also I really love you guys!! Seriously I look like the fucking cheshire cat when I read all your comments and stuff, it's ridiculous in public. All of you are precious souls. Precious precious souls.


	6. I'm not having sex with those in the vicinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider, and you don't know what you're doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so this is the "smut" chapter. I'm sorry again for how bad this is ~~why is porn so awkward for me I've written weirder shit oh my fucking~~. I'm actually nervous to post this. If you don't want to read the nasty bits, I suggest skipping past the little black line part-way down (though a good portion of the beginning is safe too).

Your name is Dave Strider, and you don't know what you're doing.

Ok yeah you talk a lot of shit, but if you're being honest, you're a huge fucking virgin. Well, not physically - you've slept with your share of people, but this feels different. You don't know what it is - there's nothing fragile about the other boy - but you want to be careful with Karkat. You want to leave marks on his skin, but not bruises; you want to bite his lips, but not hard enough to draw blood; you want to make his heart race, but keep its beats steady. When did you get this cliche, holy fuck. 

Karkat's skin is hot beneath your palms, and you can feel his chest heaving when you push him towards the hallway. You're still kissing, both of you fighting for some sort of dominance, struggling to hold the other under your tongue. You can feel heat pulsing through your own body, and the writhing beneath your skin, a needy itch that only Karkat's nails seem to be capable of scratching. Thank god your bro has to work today, because both of you have given up on being quiet.

Which, by the way, really turns you on.

You think you're drunk on his sounds. You were completely serious about your sentiment, and the thought of Karkat being told his voice is anything but beautiful is almost laughable. It's rough, and lilted, and he spits out words with a vehemence that makes each sound important.

Oh god, you want to hear him sing.

Moaning into his mouth, you finally push past your doorway, stumbling halfway across the room before he's pulling away with a scowl. 

"What?" you demand, wanting him back _right now_ , and follow his gaze to the pile of smuppets.

"I'm not having sex with those in the vicinity," he states, completely seriously, and you want to kill your bro. He's not even here and he's still cockblocking you. You know he put them there on purpose, that asshole. 

"This is a huge boner killer," you groan, reluctantly stooping down to begin chucking the puppets out of the room. You kick the ones you can't fit in your arms, punting them out as fast as possible. Jesus. 

Karkat just stands and snickers lightly at you.

Of course, you are still Dave Strider. It takes you less than a minute to empty your room of plush ass and turn back to Karkat, trying your best not to grin. You kick the door close for good measure, and stride back to him, fully intending on continuing where you stopped. To your disappointment, he stops you with one hand, holding you at arm's length. You feel the pressure of his weight lift with your breath. 

Hey, if he wants to stop, you won't push it. You'll probably have to go have an hour long cold shower, but you aren't going to force yourself on anyone. You might be a sarcastic, narcissistic asshole, but consent is important. He doesn't say what you expect. 

"You also have to take off those stupid fucking glasses."

Your heart stutters.

What most people assume is that you wear your shades as a part of your image. That, and to hide your personal life from the cameras. You're not a huge star, but you get press every now and again. You guess being able to hide your face has made your career easier to deal with, but you can count on one hand the amount of people that know you've always had your shades. You can't remember going out in public without them, ever. You can't remember not having them. It's the cardinal Strider rule: keep your shades on. 

Of course, you didn't get it as a kid. You did it because bro did it, and bro was the epitome of cool. You kind of worshipped him. You guess people are pretty accepting now, or will just assume you have contacts in or something, but you still remember the only time you tried to talk about it. 

_"So what colour of eyes should our character have? Blue? Green?"_

_"What if he has red eyes?"_

_"What? People don't have red eyes!"_

_"What do you mean, yes they do."_

_"No, they don't! That would be really freaky. Who'd want eyes like that?"_

And you never questioned it again. Freaky, that's what you were. You believed it for a long time, too. Didn't make a whole lot of friends, stood up for yourself, travelled the lone road. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

Either way, you never got over it. You physically can't move to take them off; your nerves have decided to freeze exactly where they are, locked-and-loaded, ready to maneuver into one of your kali stances.

Karkat must pick up on your discomfort, because his lips curl down a little. Yeah, this is definitely a boner killer. Why do you have to be different? Your heart is beating out an unsteady rhythm in your chest, and your fingers start itching, like they want to scratch at your turn-tables until you drown yourself in music. Except, you also really want to be with Karkat.

"Can I?" he asks, motioning towards your shades. You don't move as his hand flows closer, and watch carefully as his fingers curl over the rims. _Boom-boom, boom-boom, a perfect baseline to set the stage, cymbals ticking lightly behind the drums._ You keep your eyes open when he finally pulls them off. 

"Oh."

You can actually see the reds of your iris reflecting off his dark, almost black eyes. They've widened - of course they've widened, normal people don't have red eyes - and you think you've rendered Karkat momentarily speechless. _You could spin his eyes like records, scratching up the beat and pulsing forward into the first verse._

His eyes narrow a little, but in a sort of speculative way. You really want to know what he's thinking, because your heart is still b-b-beating, and you actually feel vulnerable. You only compose when you're nervous. Shit. 

"You know, this was a bad idea, maybe we should just..." you trail off, not sure what to say, but you can't take his staring. _Violins would pull strains to begin the melody, creating a cacophony against the baseline, darting against the thrums of your own mixes. A whirl of beautiful screeches._

"I _really_ fucking like your eyes."

You blink, once, and your head goes silent. Karkat huffs again, pulling you back towards him, and you think you hear him mutter, "Idiot," before you stutter back to life and devour his lips again. Holy shit, that cheesey motherfucker. There's no music left in your mind, just his breaths against your mouth. You think you could drown yourself in Karkat and never want to breathe again. You decide you don't want him to leave.

"Your bed is a mess," Karkat notes when you push him down on to it, attacking his neck again. You really love Karkat's mocha skin. Or, you muse, perhaps you should say earl grey. Mm, you can taste where the liquid bled through his shirt onto his chest. You suck down his collar bone, following the line of his sternum. Everyone can shut the fuck up, you love tea. 

"Seriously, when's the last time you cleaned up the crap on your floor? It's-sssshit." 

Karkat probably would have kept talking if you didn't begin grinding your hips against him, tongue determined to taste every inch of exposed skin. He's so beautiful, especially when he starts whimpering. It sends shivers through your body, and twists through your stomach. If you weren't completely gone before, you are now. Rational Strider has left the building, ladies and fucking gents, please hold your applause for hot and heavy.

You explore the full expanse of his chest, scraping the ridges of his ribs with your teeth, and tracing the edges of his shoulders with your hands. His body is small, but compact, and you can feel each quiver and shake beneath your limbs as you trail down his abdomen. You peck kisses along the line at the top of his jeans, and one of his hands runs through your hair as he mutters a continuous string of profanities. 

One of your hands palms him through his jeans as your lips find purchase part-way down his v-line. You can physically feel him writhing beneath you, puffing out breaths and muddled sentences. Figuring you'd teased him enough, you promptly duck down to snatch the zipper of his jeans between your teeth, dragging it slowly down. You meet Karkat's eyes, and watch his already-blown pupils dilate further. His expression might have been comical if you weren't so painfully turned on. You almost snicker, but decide you better play nice if you want to continue your escapade into Karkat's pants.

You make a point of carefully undoing the button, and guiding his tight-ass jeans over his hips, helping him shuck them off. Now you focus on his thigh, kissing up the inner side of his left leg, breathing lightly against his flushed skin. Karkat is still swearing lightly above you, and you almost grin to yourself. You might not have a huge list of sexual encounters under your belt, but you made sure you learned a lot from them. God forbid Dave Strider is anything but fucking brilliant at everything. And god do you want him to feel good. 

"Fuck, Dave, can you hurry the hell up?" Karkat finally groans, once you'd been sucking at his thigh for a good minute. This time you do laugh.

"Yes, your majesty. Just waiting for consent to dethrone your panties."

"Jesus christ, do you do this to all youraaag-gh!"

You free him in one swift movement, and without pause, engulf his member in your hollowed cheeks. You thank god in moments like these, because your really shitty gag reflex makes deep throating a lot easier. His hips jerk up, and his hands are fisted in your bedspread, and you think he's just moaning now instead of saying actual words.

You put some weight on his hip, because as much as it doesn't bug you, you kind of want to do your tongue tricks instead of just letting him fuck your mouth. You suck lightly, and flatten said tongue, pulling back with each sucking motion. Your free hand massages his thigh, helping you keep a steady rhythm. You're not really concerned about teasing right now - you want to hear Karkat scream your name. 

You did say you were narcissistic. 

Karkat's moans grow increasingly louder, and each one vibrates all the way down to your boxers, where its pretty apparent how turned-on you are. Fuck, did you mention how much you love his voice? You _really_ love his voice. You hum, pulling off and circling your tongue around the tip of his cock, where you can taste pre-cum gathering. 

"Fuck- Dave, I'm not going to-" Karkat's babbling quietly, one hand moving back to fist in your hair again, and you're kind of tempted to shove a hand down your own pants, _jesus_. Him first, you reason, bringing a hand up to work on whatever you can't get your mouth around. You suck more violently, bobbing your head a little faster, and it isn't long before Karkat is arching into your mouth, and holy fuck, yes, _he is_ a screamer. 

You swallow everything, licking your lips, and move back up his body, watching his face slowly morph from bliss to disbelief. You almost chuckle again, but grab his face instead, kissing him deeply. Mm, he still smells like tea and honey, you note, shivering lightly. You are hereby certified to say he tastes fucking amazing. You also might have a slight oral fixation. Learn something new everyday, kids. 

"Jesus fuck," he mumbles against your lips, and you pull back enough to shake your head.

"No, I'm Dave, but close enough."

"Fuck you, Strider," he mutters, and drags you back down for another heated kiss. You don't think you'll get over his chafed lips, especially not when they part to tug lightly at your own, sucking you in deeper. You won't say anything, but you are still painfully hard, and you kind of hope he doesn't forget about you and your poor, untouched boner. 

He doesn't.

Karkat surprises you by flipping your positions, so he's propped above you, eyes raking carelessly down your body. He kisses you this time, taking complete control, and you let him. His tongue maps your mouth, and you're pretty sure the noises you're making are unholy, but holy shit, he's ridiculously skilled with his tongue. You can't help grinding into his thigh, wanting some well deserved relief, but Karkat plaintively ignores you, focusing almost completely on your mouth.

Can you cum just from kisses? You don't think so, but fuck, just imagining his mouth somewhere else is enough to send your head spinning. 

When Karkat finally does pull away, though, his face is a little twisted, as though he's unsure. For a minute you think you are going to have to take the shower of shame. Eventually he bites his lip, and says, "Look, I've never... Um. Gone down on someone before."

"Eloquently put," you say, before you can stop yourself, and he rolls his eyes. You snort, dragging him down for another, brief kiss. "Hey, you don't gotta do anything you don't want to, mkay? It would be hella fucking awesome if you stuck around, but you don't owe me anything." Lord, please let him decide to stay with you.

Karkat 'hmms' against your lips, tugging at your bottom one again, thinking. He does that too much, you decide, seriously considering jerking yourself off. But then his hand trails down your chest, pushing away your boxers, and it doesn't even matter that its only his hand because _fuck, yes, finally_.

"Is this ok?" he asks, and you just groan in response, pulling his head down again to mash your lips together. He feels so good next to you, knees bordering your waist, keeping you firmly pinned to the bed. Its almost embarrassing how quickly you can feel your orgasm building. 

Karkat continues to surprise you, however, by giving you a final kiss and moving down your body, his head coming to a stop between your thighs. Your breaths are shuddering out now, anticipation clogging your throat. You hold your breath completely when he gives your cock an experimental lick, and throw your head back when he sucks the tip, moaning his name. Soon he's running his tongue from the base of your dick back to the slit, swirling over the head while his hand works steadily up and down the base. 

Too soon you're arching into his palm, fingers curled in his hair as you ride out your orgasm. When you slowly come down, panting, Karkat moves back up beside you. He has a strange look on his face, and you really hope that's part of the whole afterglow sex effect, because you certainly feel like you're fucking enveloped in clouds. 

"Wow. You are. Fuckin' ridiculous," you mutter, voice dipping a little into your Texan accent, because you're pretty sure sex didn't feel that fantastic with other people. Jesus, you only exchanged sloppy blow-jobs; you must have an oral kink. Karkat still has this weird look, but he doesn't protest when you pull him down beside you, so you let it go. Let it be said now, Dave Strider loves to fucking cuddle.

But you do feel pretty gross, so you reach over your bed to find a dirty shirt, and wipe off what you can. You literally do not care, its going to be washed anyways. Then you pull Karkat even closer, and he buries his head into your shoulder, breath ghosting behind your ear. You feel really god-damn nice right now, you decide, blinking sleepily. A nap sounds fantastic after being woken up early this morning. He doesn't say anything, and neither do you, and before you know it you're drifting into sleep, unaware of how his body has grown stiff next to yours.

* * *

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you can't believe that just happened. 

Dave's arms are still loosely wrapped around your middle, and you're hyperaware of where your legs are tangled under the covers, still a little sticky with sweat.

Your heart is thumping almost painfully against your ribs, and you know its ridiculous to be freaking out, but you don't know what to do now. What, do you just hang around until he wakes up and kicks you out? Your stomach twists, and you try really hard not to breathe in Dave's ridiculous strawberry shampoo, because you are kind of tumbling head-over-heels for this stupid fucking idiot. 

You carefully disentangle yourself from Dave's limbs, worried at first that he'll wake, but he barely shifts. His face is completely different without his shades, you note, breath catching. He looks a lot smaller, and a little gaunter, as though life takes more out of him than he'd admit. Your heart squishes painfully, and you swing yourself out of the bed, pulling on your boxers. 

You feel sick. 

You find your discarded jeans, and pull your phone from your pocket, hands shaking. Are you breathing faster than normal? His voice had dipped into a Texan accent, your mind helpfully remembers, and it makes you want to cry. Your fucking throat won't open, and you're panicking. You need to get out. And also calm the fuck down. This is too much.

GAMZEE.  
GAMZEE PLEASE ANSWER. I NEED YOU TO PICK ME UP FROM SOMEWHERE. ITS CALLED REGAL GAITS, THERES A TWO-STORY SILVER HOUSE, IT STICKS OUT REALLY EASILY.  
PLEASE. I DID SOMETHING STUPID. I NEED OUT.

You fumble with your jeans for a few minutes, trying to find where the button is. Why can't your hands stop shaking? There are still wet trails of tea along the legs, and you are seriously going to be sick. Fuck. _Fuck_ , what were you thinking. You always do this to yourself. 

"Karkat?"

You freeze, holding your breath. Making a distinct effort to let your face relax into something neutral, you turn back to the bed, meeting Dave's eyes.

And, holy shit, you can see everything. Uncertainty, displeasure, maybe even hurt. His eyes are so expressive, and beautiful, and this really isn't fair, why couldn't he just let you leave?

"Where are you going?"

You swallow thickly, feeling utterly stupid. You wonder if it would be completely out of the question to just run out.

"I assumed my welcome was over-stayed," you finally get out. Dave continues to stare at you, eyes turning briefly blank before realization hits him upside the head.

"Jesus, Karkat, I didn't drag you out here for a quick fuck," he mutters, frowning. Your eyes dart to the ground, feeling your stupid chest squeeze again. 

"Yeah, well, you're going to have to find someone else for a longer one," you eventually spit, turning to leave. It continually surprises you how fast Dave Strider can move, because his arms are suddenly looped around your middle again, chest flush against your back. You tense up, hands automatically moving to pry him off, but he doesn't budge. 

"No. Fuck, I... I know we just met an' all, and I don't know anythin' about you," he begins, forcing you to turn around. God damn, his accent is bleeding through again. "But I fuckin' want to, ok?"

You can't look him in the eyes. You breathe out a huff to cover up a sniffle, blinking rapidly at the ground. What, is he serious? What the fuck does he want you around for? 

"So, will you get your cute little ass back where I can cuddle the hell out of it?" Dave ends, and you have to drag your gaze up to meet his. There's amusement there now, but also genuine sentiment. He is serious. He sincerely wants you to stay. Holy shit, you are a huge tool. 

"I. Uh. Mhm," you get out intelligently, and Dave smiles - he genuinely fucking smiles - dragging you back to the bed. You collapse together, another mess of limbs, and then he's kissing you lazily again. You think your heart skips a few beats, and wow, this is actually happening. You snuggle yourself tighter against Dave's chest, arms wrapped tightly around his waist so he can't get away. Yeah, ok, you can do this. Deep breaths. 

"There's my Kitty-Kat."

"Fuck, will you stop calling me that?"

The two of you shuffle around, and find a comfortable arrangement with most of your upper body slung over his chest. His hand carts comfortingly through your hair, massaging your scalp lightly. You grudgingly have to admit, if you _were_ a meow beast, you would be purring. 

A knock on the bedroom door scares the hell out of you both. From outside, a voice deadpans, "Work was cancelled."

Dave's face slowly warps into something akin to horror, and you can't help it, you burst out laughing. You can feel tension leaving your body, and you decide that this is definitely good. 

You never want to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so three big headcanons in this chapter:  
> 1\. kk has anxiety, and his small episode was sort of what happens to him at the beginning of a panic attack  
> 2\. dave gets his accent when he's anxious, tired, and/or alarmingly drunk  
> 3\. dave takes out his stress (and all other emotions) in his music, and compulsively composes mixes  
>  ~~4\. dave has an oral fixation. thanks The_Onion_Wanton~~
> 
> (hope that wasn't too dramatic or w/e)
> 
> Anyways thanks so much for reading again you guys. Holy carp I'm really glad this fic is going somewhere, it makes my heart really happy. Reeeeelly happy. ~~oops fish puns~~


	7. you have a juggalo friend?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dirk Strider, and you’ve just had a fantastic morning off-work filming shots for your puppet porn enterprise.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you’ve just had a fantastic morning off-work, spent mostly filming shots for your puppet porn enterprise.

You actually got a lot done this morning. You got up stupidly early to do yoga on the roof (in black and pink spandex), baked literal bacon cookies, wrote another list of shit you need to get from the grocery store, and then moved on to the filming. Afterwards, you proceeded to mix some new beats for tomorrow night, when you’ll be back at Meenah’s club. The music helped drown out the ridiculously loud moans from across the hall. There are some sexual experiences even you don’t want to be a part of. 

Technically, you have three jobs; you get two nights a week at _Pufferfish_ , where you dj for up to twelve hours in a row. You also have a part-time day job at _Jake’s Outdoors Adventure Shop_ , which you probably should have quit awhile ago, but you kind of have a huge crush on your boss (haha oops). And then, of course, you have your own side-project, your smuppet site. It started out ironic, but then people actually started paying money to watch your shit, and now you’re making a pound off it.

Situational irony is probably your favourite. 

Right this moment, however, you’re in your living room, turning up My Little Pony while you tip back another beer. You’ve come to find most things are better with a bit of a buzz. You never used to touch alcohol, but its grown on you with age; cartoons are surprisingly hilarious after a six pack. Actually, the more you think about it, most things are funnier after a bit of booze. You guess you understand why Roxy drinks so much. 

You’re just about to flip the channel when there’s a knock at the door. You take your beer with you when you saunter down the stairs, wondering vaguely who’s come a-knocking at Casa De Strider. When you flip open the door, you’re surprised. 

The first word that comes to your mind is juggalo. 

The dude’s tall, like a fucking corn stalk. You don’t have to look up to a lot of people, but you almost have to crane your neck to get a good look at this guy. He’s dressed almost exclusively in black and grey, but he doesn’t have the usual teen vampire aura. His jeans look like a skinny cut, but somehow they’re big enough that they still hang off his tiny-ass legs in polka-dotted rivulets. He’s got a dark mop of hair on his head, and looks like he just woke up after a crazy motherfuckin' carnival party (and then didn’t bother wiping off the smudged clown paint on his face). His expression looks something akin to ‘high as the fucking moon’ at first glance, but once he opens his mouth, you swear his eyes have a more sinister glint. If he didn’t smell so strongly of weed, you might have felt a trickle of trepidation. 

“What’s up, motherfucker. I’m looking for Karbro.”

You continue staring at him, taking in the faded concert t-shirt and the dark purple beanie sitting precariously amongst his curls. 

“You mean short and moany?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe. Your face has come uncomfortably close to his, but he seems like he could give less than a fuck. That is, no fucks. Doesn’t even blink. Interesting.

“Said he needed to up and motherfucking get out,” the kid adds slowly, and yeah, his eyes definitely have a wicked nasty look about them. There is something a little intimidating about staring down a pair of clown circles. (Except, you are the wickedest bitch in kali, so you doubt he could actually do anything.)

You don’t move for a second, sizing him up. Eventually you just motion the guy inside. 

“You might have to wait a bit. I think he’s still in my brother’s pants.”

The guy doesn’t say anything, just slowly swings his way through your door. He passes right in front of your face, and you catch a hint of… Blueberry? Blueberry and weed. He almost doesn’t take his shoes off, but pauses at the base of the stairs, slipping one giant foot out of his shoes after the other. You don’t really know what to make of him. 

The feelings must be mutual, because despite his completely lax attitude, he won’t meet your eyes.

The two of you end up on the couch, sitting side-by-side in silence. He doesn't say a word about your puppets, or your posters, or your choice of tv station. You guess you can cross _watch My Little Pony with a juggalo_ off your bucket list. 

You can’t decide if you’re enjoying the awkward tension, or if you’re going to barge in on Dave and Karkat’s sexy time.

* * *

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and Dave Strider sleeps like an underweight cow that just gave strenuous birth.

Seriously, the most you can get out of him is a groan. And not even the sexy kind. 

“Dave. Daaave. Dave, you shittrain, if you don’t wake up soon, I’m going to shave all of your hair off,” you threaten half-heartedly, poking his side. He hasn’t stirred much since you woke up - almost half an hour ago - and you don’t hold out for much now. 

“S’too pretty. You like it too much,” is his muffled response. You scowl at the ceiling, then back to Dave’s face, where it is promptly buried into his pillow. 

“Yes, and that way I’ll have it forever. Or maybe I'll sell it on eBay and become a fucking millionaire, just so I can buy your band and make you play personal concerts for me.”

One brilliant, scarlet red eye peeks out at you between Dave’s mussed hair. 

“You’re a creep. Why the hell do you want to get up, anyway. Here is nice. Here is fantastic.”

Dave pulls you back close to him, earning an indignant squeak from you, and a minute of struggle before you relent and let him be the big spoon. You try to snap something at him, but you’re honestly too content to find something snarky.

“I am hungry, and not tired, and watching you sleep is boring,” you finally say, and feel his breath puff out along the base of your neck, like he's laughing silently. 

“Hey, whatever you want babe. Pancakes? Cereal? Waffles? Strider’s got them all.”

“We both know that is utter bullshit.”

“Excuse you. There is definitely some cereal in the cupboard.” 

“Oh, god, I get to eat Dave Strider’s cereal?” your voice is so heavily laden with sarcasm, you’re relatively sure you broke some sort of a sarcastic fourth wall.

Dave’s laughter bubbles up into actual snorts, and you shuffle in his arms, snickering up at his expression. You love how much you can actually see now, without his stupid glasses on. You like the way his eyes crinkle when he actually smiles, and how his cheeks almost fucking tremble when he’s laughing, as if he doesn’t do it enough. You want to make both of those things a more frequent occurrence. 

There's another knock on the door. You have all of twenty seconds to register what's happening before you hear, “Throw on your pants,” and Dave’s bro comes barging in. 

Dave doesn’t move, but you blush furiously, immediately pulling the blanket up to hide most, if not all, of your body. Technically you’re wearing your boxers, but you aren’t exactly comfortable with yourself in front of other people. 

Also his bro still freaks you the fuck out. 

“Your pet clown visited,“ Dirk begins, but he’s half blocked by a tall, lanky, familiar figure. 

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, suddenly remembering your text. You try to say something, but he strides right the fuck over, face twisted. Shit shit shit, you know this look. This is a not-good look. 

“Hey, wait,” you start, but Gamzee’s already stooped down to drag Dave forward by his wrist, looming over him. His height is useful in situations like this, you guess, because he looks massive enough that you wouldn't even be able to run away from him. You certainly feel like you're trapped. 

“If you up and motherfucking hurt Karbro, I’ll drag your intestines out through your nose, and string up my christmas tree with them,” he states, in the sort of alarmingly chill voice you know that means Gamzee’s not fucking around. 

“Hey, hey, look, I sent that text too fast, I’m fine,” you’re muttering, climbing awkwardly between the two of them. You’re relieved that Dave hasn’t said anything (hasn’t even blinked, you think, before you realize that somehow he got his shades back on) because you’re pretty sure both of them would be dangerous in a fight.

“See. I’m fucking fine. I just had a pan-… I freaked out a little, ok? I’m just a fucking idiot. Dave is fine. He's not hurting me.”

Gamzee peers down at you, eyes concerned, before his gaze drifts back over your shoulder to Dave.

“Is this the motherfucker from Grimdark?”

“Yes. I fucking _told_ you who I was going home with.”

You realize how that sounds, and have to physically stop yourself from flinching. You think you hear a chuckle from the doorway, but pointedly decide not to look at bro. 

“You did, Karbro. I’m the only one that up and believed in that miracle.”

Apparently this is all Dave can handle, because he finally cuts in: “You have a juggalo friend?”

You turn to glare at him, but Gamzee seems to have calmed down now, and he’s holding out one of his huge, thin hands to shake. 

“Cool to motherfucking meet you,” he grins lazily, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You love your friend, but fuck if he doesn’t freak you out sometimes. You remember him telling you about his dad being in the Mafia; at first you thought he was just high , but over time you’ve come to realize that he actually has a scary-ass family.

“So,” Bro cuts in, voice lilting up into what you can only assume is his best single-90’s-mom-voice. “Do you boys want some lemonade, hm?” 

You're actually a little surprised Dirk didn't intervene. Wasn't he into some sort of karate thing? He looks far too calm over there, hands on his hips, shades glinting. Actually, now you think about it, he probably _would_ have jumped in if Gamzee did anything stupid. 

“I think my friend was just leaving,” you stand up off the bed, dragging Gamzee out of Dave’s room. You can still feel how flushed your cheeks are. He follows, but only until the living room. 

“We have class tomorrow, Karbro,” he reminds you. You turn to him, still huffy, though it’s a little hard to seem intimidating in your underpants. 

“I know! I was also cuddling with Dave fucking Strider,” you whisper, gesturing back towards the hallway. Gamzee practically has to bend over to look at you, and from your angle, you should probably be intimidated by him. After meeting his brother, though, Gamzee looks like a fucking saint. 

Plus, he smells like he’s been baking blueberry pie. Its hard to find him scary after he’s fed you the best pastry you’ve ever tasted. 

“I know everything about this is stupid and irrational but, hey, holy shitmaggots, I am in Strider’s house. And somehow he wants me to hang around. So I would really like to continue hanging the fuck around.”

Gamzee runs a hand through his mop of hair. You wouldn’t think he’d get too far with that, but after a weird party incident, you learned firsthand that his hair is actually really soft. It doesn’t move much, though, springing immediately back to its original state. 

“Karbro, if you are motherfucking happy, I am motherfucking happy. But education is important, too.”

If Gamzee didn’t look so sincere, you’d probably laugh. Its no secret that he blows off half his classes to go smoke with his stoner friends, or make nice with the cafeteria ladies. Now you think about it, you actually have no clue what courses he’s taking. 

“Fuck. I know,” you finally sigh, thinking of the Criminology paper you have to get started on. Oh god, it’s due in two days, and you haven’t even begun. You were too excited for the Grimdark concert to concentrate. 

Ha, good luck concentrating now. Someone should probably just kill you. 

“So, shorty, what’s up with you and juggalo?” Speaking of. Bro’s voice comes from behind you, and you flinch. Jesus, how is he so good at sneaking around?

“His name is Gamzee, douchepole, and he’s not actually a juggalo,” you grit out, but bro pretty much just ignores you.

“You’re pretty cool, Gamz,” he nods, and you turn to stare at him and Dave, who apparently had followed after his brother. Dave is looking at Dirk in disbelief. 

On the bright side, this weird meeting got Dave out of bed. On the downside, Dave has bedhead, and is still only wearing boxers, and you have half a mind to drag him right the hell back to his room. 

Your stomach wins. 

“Can we fucking eat or something?” you break through the silence eventually, rubbing a hand on the back of your neck. 

“Pancakes, cereal, waffles?” Bro trills off, and you wonder if that bastard was listening in on Dave and your's conversation. 

“Perhaps I should head out, Karbro,” Gamzee pats your head. 

To your surprise, Dirk answers before you can yell at him. “Nah, chill with us for a bit. You want some motherfucking pancakes up in your weed?”

This earns an actual chuckle from Gamzee, and if you weren’t in mild shock before, you are now. 

“Can’t up and motherfucking refuse pancakes, bro,” Gamzee nods, heading into the kitchen without another word. You swear Dirk wiggles his eyebrows at you once he follows, but he moves so fast, its hard to tell. You turn to Dave, eyes wide. 

“In twenty-one years of living under the same roof as that asshole," Dave says, completely deadpan, "He has never once called me cool.” 

“Gamzee hates pancakes,” you add.

“Shit.” 

“Fuck,” you agree, and you’re pretty sure you hear laughter from the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( ~~I am not shipping bro and gamzee. nope. n o p e. fucking. no. i didn’t mean to do this. fuck. f u c k.~~ real talk tho guess who just became platonic soul mates. they’re going to have deep, gay conversations about jake and tavros and bake pies together. what a beautiful world.)) 
> 
> So the other night my power went out, and I thought, hey, what's the best way to use up my laptop's power without internet? Writing another chapter, of course. And here it is.
> 
> Once again, thank you so so much for all the comments/kudos - still makes my day a million percent more enjoyable.


	8. What does my size have to do with cuddling positions!?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re finally going to answer Rose’s messages.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re finally going to answer Rose’s messages. 

Everyone’s seated at your round kitchen table. Gamzee and Bro are still chatting - you’ve tuned them out - and Karkat is scowling down at his pancakes, like he can’t believe his friend is enjoying himself. He’s kind of really fucking cute like that, you can’t help thinking, but you decide to keep that sentiment to yourself. You’re pretty sure he would snap even your gorgeous head off right now. 

Pulling out your iPhone, you hesitantly click on the impressive amount of text alerts you’ve gotten in the past 24 hours. You’re tempted to check the one from John first, but you know you can’t hide from your sister for long. 

Technically, Rose is your step-sister. You share the same dad, and somehow both got his weird albino genes, but that’s about all you have in common. Your backstory is an interesting one; Dirk was born first, and when he was three months old, your dad was thrown in jail. When he finally got out, six years later, he came back to your mom, conceived you, and left a couple months down the road. Yeah, real classy. You guess this is the time he found Rose’s mom. Of course, that didn’t last either, and you’re pretty sure he’s back in jail now (you could give a fuck). Roxy is Rose’s sister, to a different dad. You don’t know what this actually makes her in relation to you, so you call her your cousin to avoid confusion. You have no idea how she looks so much like Rose and you when she doesn’t even have the same father, but genetics makes your head hurt, so you’ve decided not to ponder on it. 

To be fair, your mom was always a shipwreck waiting to happen. The most vivid memories you have of her are the stench of cigarettes and angry sitcoms. You think Dirk got the worse of it, because he was older, but you can remember once or twice when she smacked you for saying something wrong. The second he was eighteen, though, he took you and ran, and neither of you ever looked back. It was a fluke you even learned about Rose, back in your Grade 12 history class. What were the chances you'd both choose Uncle Bartleby to do a report on? At least she picked something more interesting than his sock collection, but seriously, who gave a flying fuck about your uncle anyways-

Whoa, Dave, are you avoiding Rose's texts by tracing back your bloodline? Alone, in your head? Bro.

You finally open up her messages.

Tonight was certainly a success, wasn’t it? I think you executed your notes precisely. That was some quick thinking in relation to Karkat’s situation.  
I suspected he was the individual you were staring at. It was difficult to see beyond the lights in my position, but you continued to sing downwards, in his direction.  
I wonder if that was a conscious decision? Do you consider him to be a ‘hot piece of ass’, to put it in Strider diction? Maybe destiny intervened, messing with your head enough to convince you he was a good choice for a potential fuckbuddy.   
I do hope you catch the hint to tell me your thoughts on the matter before I conclude them myself.   
As usual, you are determined to put our conversations off. David, you really must grow accustomed to our chats, as we are inexplicably destined to be near one another. We are in the same band, if you have not noticed. Perhaps it's time you grow a pair.   
Very well, you leave me no choice. I’ll talk to Jade instead.  
Though you really must consider the implications you’ll have on Karkat by offering to take him home. If my intuition proves right, you also offered to let him stay at your house. In most cases that action would be seen as a romantic approach, at least on a physical level. Are you quite certain you aren’t confusing him?  
Or perhaps you knew exactly what implications your actions would suggest, and rather acted on instinct. Your subconscious likely decided it wanted to be near Karkat longer, and jumped to an easy conclusion.  
Kanaya just informed me you did, in fact, take him home. My insight never ceases to amaze. To be fair, he did allow you to take him, so perhaps the decision wasn't too rash.   
Your sudden attachment to someone you barely know is sort of interesting, though. Of course, by interesting, I mean terribly predictable. You tend to make decisions on the spur of the moment, leaning towards whichever outcome naturally benefits yourself. I have a theory on your love interests, though its still under development.   
I’ll have to propose it to you one day.  
It ties in with your Oedipus complex.

Oh, jesus fucking christ, not that again.

see this is why i dont answer you lalonde  
i never actually signed up for a psychoanalyst

You aren’t even surprised that she’s already typing a response.

What is this! Dave Strider finally responded to my texts. I am not a useless peasant under his kingdom after all. Thank you ever so much, sire, for acknowledging my presence.

come forth and bask under my rays of hella rad young servant  
youll need some shades  
mostly because they're fucking awesome  
but also because im blinding

How could I ever repay my king’s ample generosity and love for his people? I am hopelessly inadequate to stand beside you.

you may kiss your kings gold threads and serve under his cool reign forever

I shall eternally be known as your hand-maiden, oh King of Cool. Bless me with your sick beats.

that insinuation came pretty close to incest lalonde  
my own sister cant resist strider charm

The literal role of a hand-maiden is simply to serve. You projected your own incest into that one, Strider, as appealing as I'm sure your charm is. Hm, I’ll have to add that to my theory.

for fucks sakes  
im not in love with my bro  
hes talking to a juggalo right now anyway pretty sure theyre planning a wedding over pancakes

Can I ask how a juggalo got into your home?

motherfucking miracles apparently

You shut off your phone, and ignore any further buzzing. You may or may not be avoiding (you definitely are) her real questions but oh well. You can only handle so much of your sister at once. Also, her comment got a little too close to what you’d said to Karkat last night. How the _fuck_ does she always know. You'll have to add to your own theory that she’s psychic. 

Karkat, bless his little heart, is shoving the remainder of his pancakes angrily into his mouth. You don't know what's setting him off, but his frown hasn't changed since it settled on his face. Perhaps its time for a distraction, you muse silently, placing a hand on his elbow. Karkat jumps, as though he’s forgotten you’re there. Oh, hell no, Dave Strider isn’t simply _forgotten_.

“Mario kart?” you flick your head towards the living room, and you can’t decide if Karkat looks relieved or pissed. Either way he stands up and stomps out of the kitchen, you trailing behind. Bro’s too busy explaining his puppet shit to the clown to give you one of his looks, but you can tell what he's thinking.

Karkat’s standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, back to you. His shoulders are sort of hunched, and he looks like he's physically uncomfortable. You don't waste time, looping your arms around his smaller frame from behind, sticking your head on his shoulder. He's still too tense for your liking, so you turn your head, pressing your lips lightly up the back of his jaw. You can feel his stomach flutter beneath your hands, and your heart does a few funky beats, pleased that you can pull this sort of a reaction out of him. When you reach his ear, you grab his lobe lightly between your teeth, and tug. Karkat finally releases a shaky sigh, going pliant beneath you. 

You turn Karkat gently towards you, so his chest is pressed against yours. Your hands cradle his face while you trail more kisses over his cheekbone, slowly moving down towards his lips. You can feel his light breaths against your own cheek, speeding and faltering, until you finally catch his lips.

You take it slow and languid this time, focusing on each press and curve of Karkat’s mouth. He responds tentatively at first, almost unmoving, until you press a little closer and gain access to his tongue. Then he’s pressing back against you, hands fisting in your shirt, trying to deepen your kiss. Mm, no Karkitty, now is time for quiet.

You pull your head away, and Karkat makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. You chuckle and move back to press light kisses on his face, trailing towards his ear again. (Have you mentioned how much you like Karkat's skin? You really like Karkat's skin.) Once you get there, you hover for a moment, then whisper, “I’m going to hand your ass to you.”

You finally pull away completely, grinning, and turn to flick on your old gamecube. 

Karkat’s expression is equally as surprised as it is exasperated. Then his face descends into a smirk, and the glints he gets in his eyes almost scares you. Wait, what? “Bring it the fuck on, Strider.”

* * *

So Karkat turns out to be a fucking champion at Mario Kart. 

No, a _literal fucking champion_. Apparently he beat some sort of a record on it, and even got a little plaque for his wall. He whoops your ass from here to Saturn and back, even managing to double lap you a few times. Hey, on regular terms, you kick ass with this game - drifting is like a sixth sense - but he is really fucking good. He even manages to avoid half the blue shells that get shot at him.

“Wow, your ass sure does feel good over her. Would you like it handed to you yet?” he asks, almost innocently, as his kart literally pushes you into sand tornado. You watch it flip uselessly through the air, and feel like its a pretty accurate representation of what’s happened to your otherwise impressive winning streak. 

“I can’t even pretend this is luck. Fuck you, Karkitty. I bow to your clear superiority at the time-old trials of Double Dash Mario Kart.” You literally drop your controller, letting your car idle as Karkat whizzes past the finish line. 

“If it makes you feel better, literally no-one can beat me. I’m the god of gamecube.”

You snort. Usually you’d be pretty pissed after being beaten so royally, but the way Karkat looks is sort of endearing. You'll just have to get better.

“I give up. Wave the white flag. Beg for mercy on my poor, mortal ass.”

“Hm, I’ll think about it.”

You shove his shoulder lightly, and to your surprise, he catches your hand and flops backwards onto the floor. You're tugged after him, huffing, and end up tangled in his legs, torso lying across his stomach. Karkat still has a superior look on his face, and this little smirk is pulling at his lips, and oh hey, suddenly you're dick is ready for another round. How does he do that. 

He pulls you up towards his mouth, teeth catching your bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth. This time you groan into the kiss, letting your eyes flutter shut as he takes control, pushing his tongue past your lips. You decide that him winning is the opposite of a problem, because he’s more confident now, threading his hands into your hair. You wish you didn’t have to use your own arms to hold yourself up, but try to compensate your lack of touch by getting down to his neck again, sucking and nipping at all the places you remember draw noises from his throat. 

“You two are not getting it on in my living room.”

You sigh, pulling reluctantly away to stare over your shoulder at Dirk. You really need to get your own apartment. Karkat is tense beneath you, but you don't move.

“God forbid we defile the area you use to film smuppet porn,” you deadpan.

“Smuppets can’t stain the carpet.”

“For fuck’s sakes,” Karkat sighs and pushes you off, sitting up. His cheeks are red again, you note. "We weren't planning on ruining anything - not that much could make this cheap-ass excuse for floor material worse." 

Bro's eyebrows raise a little, and you think Karkat just won a few brownie points.

“Whatever you say, shorty. We're going to watch Jurassic Park, because Gambro hasn’t seen it yet, and that is the saddest fucking tragedy I’ve ever heard,” Bro is already unplugging the gamecube and starting up your VHS, sticking a tape in. Gamzee must have followed after him, because he’s set up on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table. 

Karkat looks mildly annoyed again, but you tug him back towards you, ignoring his spits of swearing. God damn it, you two are going to cuddle through a movie. Bring on the yaois. He struggles a little, but does eventually let you pull him into the crook of your elbow, so he’s curled up into your side. You can both make out the tv from here, even if its at an awkward angle (but you aren’t really planning on watching the show anyways). 

In usual Strider fashion, Bro turns off all the lights and shuts the blinds. Then the previews begin. 

You can literally quote this movie - _“All major theme parks have delays. When they opened Disneyland in 1956, nothing worked! Yeah, but John, if The Pirates of the Caribbean breaks down, the pirates don’t eat the tourists.”_ \- so you basically take the time to stare at Karkat’s face instead. In the dark, with your shades on, you know its pretty much impossible to tell where you’re looking. Karkat glances at you a few times, but mostly focuses on the movie, brow furrowed. At first you think he is genuinely disgusted with the storyline, but after a while, you notice his eyes glazing over. 

You almost frown, mind jumping back to this morning.

“What’s up, Kitkat?” you ask quietly. Karkat jumps, eyes darting to yours. He blinks twice, then shrugs. 

“What? I’m watching this ridiculous fucking movie,” he grumbles.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“What’s his name then?”

“Uh…”

You raise your eyebrows over your shades, and Karkat looks down at the carpet, picking at some of the thin threads. “I don’t…” he sighs, sounding almost angry. "It doesn't matter, ok?” 

"Mm, pretty sure it does."

"Fuck off."

"Wouldn't you rather do that for me?"

"Oh my god," he rolls his eyes. After a pause, and then an exaggerated puff of breath, he finally mutters, "I just don't want to leave."

You watch his cheeks go red again, face frowning down at the floor still, fingers snatching angrily at the already abused carpet fibres. He looks so fucking adorable, and you honestly can’t help yourself - you immediately drag him against you, earning a second puff of surprise, and hold him tight against your chest. 

“Oh Karkitten,” you sigh, patting his head. He’s muttering against you, something that sounds a lot like more swearing, but you ignore it. “You have my number. Do you know who else has my number? John, Jade, Rose, and Kanaya. Oh, and that asshole over there,” you motion towards Dirk. Thankfully, the table obscures his and Gamzee’s view of the two of you. “You can literally talk to me any time you want.”

“I know, its just. Ugh, I said this was stupid.”

“What?” you pry.

“You’re going to fucking laugh, you ungrateful shitstain.”

“I promise I won’t laugh. Look, no crossed fingers. I'll even make a pinky swear.” You make a point of wiggling said pinky around, and Karkat looks incredibly unimpressed.

“Fine. Um,” his cheeks just keep getting redder. “This seems too good to be a real thing, I guess? I mean. Shit like this doesn't actually happen.”

You watch him for a second, absorbing his words. It seems ridiculous that he's still worried you aren't into him, but you try your best to imagine how he must feel. You guess it must have been a more emotional affair for him, now you think of it. He was already a fan of you, but he had no idea how you’d feel about him. And then you went and swept him off to your house, and dragged him into bed, and holy fuck, you never even took him for a date. You guess what you said this morning wasn't really enough to convince him you were serious about trying this out.

“Karkat,” you begin, unsure how to make this sound. “Look, its like I said earlier. I’m not… I know this,” you gesture between the two of you, “Is pretty weird and fast right now. And I’ve only known you for, like, a day. And I don’t know where this is going to go or if its going to work.”

He looks a little dejected at this, as though he’s still expecting you to tell him it was a one-night sort of thing, but you power on. “But so far you are way too fucking cute for your own good, and I don’t want you to leave either. So,” you untangle yourself from him, and haul him into a sitting position. He’s staring up at you with furrowed eyebrows as you half-stand, then sink on to one knee, taking his hand in your own. 

“Karkitty, will you be in yaois with me, to love and to fuck?” 

He’s gaping a little now, eyes narrowing into a scowl, and you almost snicker. 

“Get the fuck down, you idiots are blocking the screen,” Bro complains from behind you, but you ignore him, waiting for Karkat to respond. 

“Jesus, you’re so fucking dramatic. Just- sit down!”

"Nope, not until you answer. We'll leave together or heartbroken. In love or in sorrow. Sharing a bed or-"

"Holy shit, yes, you ridiculous douchewagon, we can be in whatever-the-fuck you said together."

You snicker and peck a quick kiss on his forehead, pulling Karkat into your side again. "I asked you to be my boyfriend in the archaic language of anime." He doesn’t have an answer before you’re arranged in a pile of limbs again, both turned back to the movie. He appears to be watching the screen, and even though he's still scowling, there’s a small tug at the edge of his lips, and you know you made him feel better. 

The flurry of shivers this sends through your abdomen is a little alarming, but you’ve already thrown caution to the wind, and simply snuggle further into him. You guess you do move fast, but if this is the result, you could really care less. Live on the edge, yo. 

Eventually he mutters, "If we're going to be boyfriends, I get turns at being the big spoon."

"Sure you do, Karkitty."

"I'm fucking serious!"

"You're fucking small. Maybe when you're older and grown up." 

"What does my size have to do with cuddling positions!?" You're pretty sure he'd be hissing if he were a cat.

"You're literally too small to be the big spoon. Doesn't matter where you are."

"Fuck you, Strider."

"Gotta take me on a date first, Karkitten."

"You're insufferable."

"You like it."

You hope this lasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always end up writing these at weird hours in the night. It is literally the only free time I have.
> 
> Also I can't decide if this is a serious fic or not. Its so ridiculous but _feelings_. Oh well, as long as you're all enjoying it?? Once again, thanks so so much to everyone!! I'm pretty sure I've responded to all the comments, but if I haven't actually typed something back, I have most certainly read (and probably freaked out over) all the wonderful things you've said. I really appreciate the feedback. And you. All of you.  <3
> 
> Not sure when the next chapter will be out, but I've had a lot Davekat emotions lately, so I will probably at least start soon. ~~listening to In Too Deep on replay is not a solution to falling into a shipping abyss and will not help you get over your emotions this has been a psa~~


	9. i know my ass is pretty fab, but it is just the one.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you never thought you’d be leaving Dave Strider’s house.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you never thought you’d be leaving Dave Strider’s house. Granted, thats mostly because you never thought you’d get there in the first place. Now your sentiment has a slightly different meaning, because pulling away from that ridiculous fucking structure is pulling your heart right with it.

Ok, thats dramatic. You don’t think you’d go far enough to say you’re in love with Dave - no matter how much you love everything about him, you did just meet him - but you already miss him and his stupid shades, and you haven’t even left the housing complex. 

Gamzee hasn’t blinked an eye since you left. He looks as though the excursion into a celebrities house didn’t affect him at all, save for a slightly wider smile than his resting face. You’re still mildly annoyed (how does he like that asshole?) but you know you're not actually upset with him - you’re annoyed with yourself, and your stupid college career, and life. Irrationality is a bitch. 

“Your feelings ok there, Karbro?” Gamzee asks, and you huff out a sigh. He always knows when you’re upset, no matter how well you think you hide it. Which isn’t all that well, if you’re being honest. You fucking suck at lying. 

“Fantastic. I am over the god-damn moon. In fact, I’m not worrying at all that you got along so well with a puppet porn fanatic.” You think he probably knows that’s not why you’re grumpy, but you don’t want to talk about it. 

“Motherfucker’s nice,” is all Gamzee says, shrugging one shoulder slowly. 

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet, save some heavy metal bands screeching faintly off Gamzee’s speakers. He's probably the only person you know who listens to screamo on the quietest setting. You watch buildings and trees and fields roll past, head stuck back in Dave’s apartment. You spent your last hours together chilling alone in his room, screwing around with his turntables.

_“Whoa, hey, be gentle. My old girl is delicate,” Dave shushed you, grabbing your hands and guiding them along the records in a softer motion. You scowled in response, watching him arrange your movements._

_“You are literally telling me not to hurt a giant metal box.”_

_“She’s delicate,” Dave repeats, winking at you over his shades. You roll your eyes, then turn your attention back to the music. A string of beats are shaking out the bottom of the tables, and your movements pull out scratches and emphases through the notes. It sounds ok, but you know it will get stiff and unbalanced if Dave takes his hands off._

_“I’m shit at music,” you sigh, only a little disappointed. You love music, but you’ve never been good with instruments, or holding a tune._

_“Nobody is shit at music. You don’t have to play to get music,” Dave actually sounds serious this time, nudging your hands a little out of the way as he takes over. You watch his face as he grounds out some new sounds, whipping back and forth across his tables like he grew up playing them._

_You’ve never considered this sort of music-production graceful, but you can’t really think of another way to describe the way Dave commands his records. His face is neutral, but you can catch twitches of his jaw, and the concentrated crease of his eyebrows. He glides with the turntables in a bizarrely intimate way, and you have no doubt that this is the equivalent of making love to music._

“Up for some coffee, Karbro?” Gamzee’s voice cuts across your memory, and you blink a few times, eyes focusing on the buildings flinging passed. “Tavbro says everyone’s together for Arasis’ last shift.”

It isn’t unusual for everyone to meet up at _Decadadent’s Coffee Shop_ downtown. Aradia and Nepeta both work there - that’s how your group even met her and Equius - and the place is almost always empty during the nightshift. 

“Yeah, whatever,” you respond. You were kind of looking forward to going home and sulking for the next twenty-four hours, but you guess this is a healthier option. Also, you know you’ll get dragged out by Sollux if you don’t go. 

Two wrong turns and a shitty parking job later, you and Gamzee are swinging through Decadent’s doors. Pretty much everyone is there already, sitting in a giant circle they made out of stray chairs and tables. 

“Karkat!” you’re almost bowled over by a small, bouncing shape, and only just manage to brace yourself for the flying hug you get. Swearing, you hold on to Nepeta loosely, telling her half-heartedly to, “Get the fuck off.”

Nepeta giggles, squeezing you once before landing back on the floor. She’s the only one in the group who is actually smaller than you, so even though you won’t admit it, you really like being around her. 

“So was the concert purrrfect or what?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows lightly, and you can already feel your face heating up. 

Oh, yeah. You guess you have to tell them? 

"It was Grimdark, how do you think it was?" you decide on, unable to hide a small smile.

“Hey, don’t keep KK all to yourself,” Sollux calls from the circle. “I think we all want a first-hand account of the concert.”

You make a show of rolling your eyes, but you can feel your cheeks growing brighter.

He continues, “Unless your voice stops working again.”

“Fuck you, Captor,” you growl out, stalking over. He’s leaning against the counter, behind which Aradia is making coffee. She pauses to wave enthusiastically at you, then gets back to work. They both look disgustingly happy, you note. 

Gamzee sits down next to Tavros, on the far side of the circle. To their left, Equius is fiddling with his cracked glasses, trying to clean them (as if that would fucking help). Nepeta darts over to stand with him, whispering something in his ear that makes him scowl. Continuing counter-clockwise is Terezi, who hasn’t said a word since you came in, but is grinning like a shark. Vriska is next to her, apparently more interested in whoever is texting her than what you have to say. After her sits Feferi, who is chatting loudly to a fuzzy-eyed Eridan. He is so stupidly in love with her, you have half a mind to whack him over the head with a newspaper. The best part is how completely oblivious Feferi seems, which was kind of hilarious in a horrible way. 

“No, seriously, give us the details,” Sollux ignores Aradia long enough to give you a once-over, mouth curled at the side. Actually, almost everyone is looking at you oddly, as though they're expecting something. 

“What details?” you demand, a little disgruntled. “I got on the fucking stage. My voice was gone. The band was cool about it. I passed out. Ta da. You can all laugh at how much the universe enjoys screwing with me.”

“Who did you go home with, then?” Nepeta cuts in innocently, though there’s this spark in her eyes that reminds you of a match before its thrown into a tub of gasoline. You know this look. This is Nepeta's, _you’re hiding stuff from me_ look. 

“You smell funny,” Terezi adds, lingering on the word funny, as though that’s not her first choice. 

"I have to, uh, agree that, you look different," Tavros agrees, leaning away from Gamzee enough that you catch his small grin. 

“What the fuck are you all going on about?” you grit out, looking down at yourself. You’re literally wearing the same thing you wore to the concert. Sure, your clothes aren't clean, but what do they fucking care? What, did Strider paint a giant dick on your face while you were sleeping? Fuck, actually, you haven't looked in a mirror yet...

“Oh, hush all of you,” Aradia laughs before you can try to check your face in some of the silverware. “We want to know who you slept with.”

“Who I-?” you start to say, wondering how the fuck they could tell you had slept with _anyone_ , when the answer becomes pretty clear. Your cheeks burn again, and you have a more pressing urge to run to the bathroom and check your reflection. Oh god, you didn’t even brush your hair. Fuck, Dave didn't draw anything on your face, but he probably gave you a million hickies. Why didn’t you think of cleaning up? 

You don’t even have your scarf.

“Wait, who slept with who?” Feferi asks, as both her and Eridan only just tune into the conversation. Her eyes graze over you for the first time, and she bursts out giggling. Eridan's eyebrows raise dramatically, too, and you almost want to slap him, because that look is too close to ' _You_ slept with someone?’.

“Did you pick up a cute hipster, KK?” Sollux might have sounded innocent if he wasn’t a raging douchebag. 

“You can all fuck off,” you grumble, realizing how immature you sound. You can’t exactly deny you were making out with someone, but you can’t really tell them about Dave, either. Can you? He wanted to be boyfriends, right? Does that mean you can tell people? What about press and shit? Are you supposed to sign a contract or something? More relevant, would anyone fucking believe you?

Oh god, what are you even going to say?

Gamzee eventually makes the decision for you. “Karbro up and got it on with the Grimdark bro.”

You stare at him, eyes hard, and feel your entire body tense up. For a few seconds, no-one says a thing. Even Vriska looks up from her phone, eyes wide in disbelief. 

And then Sollux starts laughing. Your shoulders tense further, and a scowl makes its way across your face. This is why you still consider Gamzee your best friend - at least he fucking believed you. (Ok, you guess it helps that he actually saw you with Dave, but still. What an assfuck.) 

“Right, I’m going home,” you growl, turning tail. 

“Aw, Karkat, we’ll stop prying!” Aradia pipes up, smacking Sollux on the back of the head. “Though we’ll find out eventually, so…”

“Do we know anyone who uses strawberry shampoo?” Terezi asks, still baring her teeth, like a dog that caught a scent. You guess she… Kind of did? Screw Dave and his probably-ironic shampoo. 

“Let me reiterate: fuck all of you. Sideways. With the help of Edward Scissorhands, because I am cutting the fuck out.”

You flash both middle fingers as you leave the cafe, to a chorus of disappointed hums and calls. You ignore them, rubbing a hand down your face. This is stupid, you decide, trudging angrily along the side-walk. The air is just nippy enough that you wish you still had that scarf, for more reasons than hiding the bites on your neck. 

The ring of your phone scares the shit out of you. 

When you flip it out and answer, you expect it to be your group, because they never let anything go. Seriously, why are your friends so fucking dense? “I told you cretinous fuming seedclaps to back the ever-loving hell off! Do I need a restraining order on your asses?”

_“Whoa bro, I know my ass is pretty fab, but it is just the one.”_

Holy shit. “Dave?”

_“No, this is Barbara. I’m calling you about your craigslist ad. Are you open to bondage?”_

“Christ.” He laughs, and you can picture his smirk. "Why are you calling me?”

_“Uh, because I wanted to? Jesus I thought we were in yaois. I'm wounded.”_

“You just wanted to talk?”

_“Yeah?"_

"After we just hung out."

_"Thats what I said. Need me to back it up and drop the bass too?"_

“What? Oh. Uh, no, I. Ok,” you bite your lip, and your chest does a weird fluttery thing, almost like you’re going to puke butterflies. Ew, you’re being gross.

 _“Ok that, and I kind of realized something else,”_ Dave’s voice is aggravatingly neutral.

You wait a moment, but he doesn’t expand. The butterfly-feeling gets infinitely worse in those few seconds, so you finally relent with a, “Realized what?”

_“I realized we never actually-“_

“KK!” Whatever Dave is about to say is cut off by Sollux’s voice, and the slapping of shoes on pavement. 

“Oh for fucks sakes,” you mutter, turning to him. He’s still sort of snickering as he jogs up, but you can tell he’s trying to keep himself in check. You can only imagine Aradia is making him apologize to you for being a douchebag. You’re pretty sure he’s still going to be an asshole about it. 

_"What?”_

You ignore Dave, moving the phone away from your mouth. 

“Come on, don’t be a lonely fuck. We’ll stop teasing you,” Sollux doesn’t even sound apologetic, and a grin is tugging at the side of his lip.

“What sort of sex did she offer you to come out here?” You snark back, and watch in alarm as his cheeks turn red. “No, I take that back, what the hell! You’re _the_ worse friend I’ve ever had the misfortune of being around!”

“You have no idea, KK. Seriously though, we haven’t talked to you in weeks. Stop being so fucking antisocial.”

“I’ve been sick you ignorant asstrain!”

“And now you’re clearly fine!”

“Ugh!” you roll your eyes, bringing the phone back to your mouth. “Sorry. Uh, can we talk later, or is it really important?”

There's a pause, before a, _“No, whatever works, Karkitten. We can talk about it later.”_

“Wait, is that who you were with?” Sollux only now looks interested in your phone, but you ignore him, plugging your other ear. 

“Ok. But stop calling me that, or I’m never answering the god-damn phone again. You’re such an- mnpffg!”

Sollux snatches your phone from over your shoulder, and you splutter in surprise, swinging around to try and take it back. Why the fuck are all your friends so tall!? He’s holding it above your head, out of arms reach. 

“Give it back, dickwind!”

He holds it to his ear instead. “Hello, this is Sollux Captor speaking. Can I asthk who thisth isth?”

You’re trying to jump for your phone, but your legs were not made for height, no matter how much muscle you attempt to put behind them. 

Sollux is listening to the phone around your snarls and snatches with a weird sort of look. You realize you’re going to have to change tactics, and without a second thought, bulldoze him over from the side. Sollux barely has time to make a surprised puff before you’re both hitting the pavement with equally loud smacks. 

“Jesus tits, KK!”

“Ow, fuck!”

 _“Does someone want to tell me whats happening.”_ To your horror, the speaker button got pressed in your struggles. 

“Dave, please shut your god-damn mouth for once in your life.”

_“No. What the fuck is going on? Are you being mugged, because I will kick his ass, baby, just hold my earrings.”_

You crawl over Sollux to grab your phone, and this time he lets you take it, eyes wide. You ignore him, shuffling so your back is to him, and you can turn speakerphone off. You ignore the fact that both of you are lying in the middle of a sidewalk (at night), and cradle your poor cellular device to your shoulder. 

“My friend is just being the biggest moron-faced asslick on the planet.”

“That was Dave Strider,” Sollux points out, very seriously, and you ignore him. Again. 

_“You have weird friends, Karkitten. Should I be worried?”_

“Oh god, you haven’t even met the worse of them,” you grumble, running a hand back through your hair as you try to sit up. You flail a little, but manage it nonetheless. You never fucking said you are graceful.

“That wasth Dave Sthtrider,” Sollux repeats, and for the first time you realize the significance of what happened. You turn slowly to meet his gaze, and you can honestly say you’ve never seen that sort of an expression on your friend before. 

He kind of looks like he just swallowed a wasps nest. 

“Uh. Yeah.”

_“Sup, asslick,”_ Dave adds loudly from the phone, and Sollux swallows visibly. 

“Are you fucking kidding me.” 

“I have to go, god knows what’s going to happen now,” you mutter, watching Sollux slowly get to his feet. 

_“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Don't want your friends to get jealous of my kick-ass threads. Talk to you later, Kitty-kat.”_

“I told you to stop fucking calling me that!” 

_“Kisses.”_

You shove your phone away angrily, getting all the way up to your feet now, and brushing whatever dirt you can away from your jeans.

“Are you. Fucking. Kidding me.”

“You’re sounding more and more like a broken record,” you snap. You have no idea what Dave was going to say to you before, but lord knows you won't get the chance to know now. God-damn it.

Sollux blinks a few times. “Dave Strider.”

You groan, wanting to tuck yourself into a dark corner. “Dave fucking Strider.”

* * *

So your friends take your new boyfriend in stride. 

And by ‘in stride’ you mean ‘in a Striderly fashion’ - by which you also mean, they have an entire fucking shitshow. Fireworks and all. 

You’re pretty sure Nepeta fainted. Aradia only believed you because Sollux was still white with shock when you walked back into the coffee shop, and she then proceeded to drop all three cups she was holding. Eridan either tried to strangle you, or begged you to let him meet Dave, you’re not completely sure which. You got a big pat on the back and another smart-ass comment from Terezi, a plethora of surprised exclamations from Feferi, and a slightly amused, steely look from Vriska. Equius didn’t seem overly concerned, Tavros congratulated you with a stuttered sentiment, and Gamzee felt the need to pull you into a tight hug (despite already being with you and Dave, the fucking odd-ball).

You ended up spending an hour getting harassed and teased, until you finally demanded that Gamzee get you the hell home. You were exhausted, stumbling into your apartment, and barely paused to take off your clothes to get into bed. You also popped back another couple of tylenols, because despite the fact that your cold had improved immensely, you still felt a little lethargic and sniffly. 

You fell asleep before your head hit the mattress. 

Now, it’s half past eleven in the morning, and you’re barely functioning enough to blink, let alone roll out of bed. Several thoughts pass through your mind before it registers that you have class today - and you’re late.

Swearing up a storm, you vault out of bed and into your closet, tugging on a clean pair of jeans and a top. You don’t have time to do anything more than brush your teeth and try your best to control the sorry excuse of a bird’s nest on your head (you can’t get it to do a damn thing) before you’re catching a bus to your college. 

You have to run to get across campus from the bus stop, and literally skid into creative writing class. Your ass only just hits a seat before your Prof walks in, and you thank every god out there. 

Of course, the short-lived victory of avoiding a late notice wears off within minutes. Lectures are almost impossible to get through at the best of times, and literal fucking hell when you’re borderline dying and exhausted. You’re just thankful for the amount of heads blocking yours, because your eyes are drifting dangerously low. You nod off once or twice, head leaning on your hand, and it isn’t until your phone vibrates that you jolt awake. 

Checking to make sure the Professor isn’t looking - she’s busy writing a fucking novel on the blackboard - you pull it out.

good morning babe

Well, you’re waking up now. 

I’M IN CLASS, ASSFACE.  
BUT GOOD MORNING TO YOU TOO.

we both know im more interesting than whatever the hell your class is  
unless youre in strider 101 that shit is important  
gotta get fucking schooled about striders

HOW COULD I FORGET, THE UNIVERSE SPINS AROUND YOU. YOU ARE THE ULTIMATE SUN OF THE GALAXIES, AND THEY JUST CAN’T WAIT TO ORBIT AROUND THOSE OBNOXIOUS FUCKING SHADES, SUCKING YOUR BULGE ALL DAY.

watch those claws kitty-kat someone might think you care  
who are we fucking kidding of course you care  
<3

YOU ARE THE MOST RIDICULOUS DOUCHEBAG I HAVE EVER MET IN MY LIFE. AND I KNOW ERIDAN AMPORA.

whoa wait mini ampora?  
related to cronus

YEAH, YOU KNOW HIM?

roxy works with cronus  
she tells us the best stories oh my god  
also fuck you im nothing like that

YEAH AT LEAST WE CAN STILL SEE HIS HEAD. YOURS IS SHOVED SO FAR UP YOUR OWN ASS ITS A MIRACLE YOU CAN HEAR YOURSELF TALK.

you kissed this head karkitty  
thats pretty kinky

HA HA FUCK YOU STRIDER

soon  
i am now winking seductively  
 _Dave sent a picture! http://see_look_im_winking.png_

WOW, THAT WAS INCREDIBLY SMOOTH. I’M FUCKING SWOONING OVER HERE.  
WHILE WE’RE ON THE TOPIC... WHEN DO YOU THINK WE'LL SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN?

aw karkles i miss you too  
are you busy wednesday

YES, I HAVE CLASS.

friday morning

YES AGAIN.  
I’M FREE THURSDAY.

fuck we have an interview then  
and like every other day for the next week  
we have shows and shit

WE’LL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT.

until then im literally going to talk to you every day i hope youre cool with that  
i dont really care if you are im talking to you anyways  
you dont get rid of striders theyre like leeches  
uh unless im smothering you  
im not being an annoying ass am i  
karkat?

SORRY PROFESSOR WAS ADDRESSING THE CLASS.  
HOLY FUCK YOU SAID MY ACTUAL NAME. IS IT POSSIBLE THAT DAVE STRIDER IS INSECURE ABOUT OUR RELATIONSHIP?

nah im cool bro  
cool as a goddamn penguin  
getting my ice on over here

WHATEVER YOU SAY. I SHOULD GO THOUGH, SHE KEEPS LOOKING OVER. TALK TO YOU LATER?.

whenever you want  
ttyl crabkat

* * *

 

The rest of your week goes pretty much the same. You have to stay up until three finishing your criminology paper, and trying to come up with a short story for writing. On top of that, computer programming requested a page and a half of new coding, and fuck if you were going to have time to do that. 

You have to guzzle multiple cups of coffee to stay awake, and ignore Dave once or twice to even absorb what your teachers are lecturing. Your biggest problem is that he literally won’t shut up - and honestly, you don’t want him to. You feel like a 30-year old chain smoker, trying to quit Dave cigarettes. Well, not quit, just take a break. And you guess Dave isn’t exactly going to give you cancer, but… Fuck, fine, stupid analogy. Either way you’re really starting to miss him by the time Friday rolls around. 

You’ve been busy with all the shit at home, and he’s been complaining about band stuff. Apparently they won’t stop talking about you, which kind of makes you uncomfortable, but also a little smug. Of course, your friends haven’t stopped either. Eridan texts you fifty trivia questions a day, and you swear to god, if Dave ever pisses you off, you’re giving his number to him. Sollux is still hung up on the fact that you're into guys - "Did you justht say you found girls attractive causthe I asthked-!?", "For fucks sakes, Captor, I told you, I'm bisexual!" - without actually being weirded out or whatever. He's just pissed he never knew. Which is kind of ironic, because you're pretty sure everyone else knew years ago. 

Most surprisingly, however, you continue getting texts from Jade. After that first night you figured she’d get tired of you, but she genuinely seems like she wants to get to know you. Even better, you can ask questions about Dave, and she’ll answer most of them (there a couple she insists she can’t tell you that, karkat, you’ll have to ask him yourself!!!! ;)).

When you do finish your friday class, its like a breath of fresh air. You hurry back to your apartment, chuck your books across the floor, and slip off everything until you’re just in your boxers. Normally you share the apartment with Gamzee, but he’s been at Tavros’s for the past month or so. You might have pestered him if you weren’t vaguely relieved you're alone. This way you can silently pine over Dave, and watch shitty movies. He texted you this morning to confirm he probably wouldn't be able to hang out for another week.

You, of course, are taking the news ‘in stride’.

Meaning you hate your life, and even though its stupid, you’re starting to wonder if Dave even wants to keep seeing you. 

You spend the rest of Friday watching movies on netflix, curled under your softest blanket, phone clutched in your hand. You’ve watched The Breakfast Club, Dirty Dancing, Rent, and now you’re halfway through Titanic. 

You are absolutely not crying. 

The knock on your door almost sends you off the couch, though. Jesus, every time that happens you get flashbacks to Dirk barging in on you and Dave. You swear loudly, sniffling and mopping at your face as you pause the movie, standing hastily with the blanket wrapped around your shoulder. What the fuck does anyone want with you? 

The knocking gets more insistent, until its a constant pounding, and you almost trip over your blanket getting down the stairs. 

“I’m fucking coming, hold on,” you snarl, swinging open the door.

“Jesus, KK, you look like shit,” Sollux notes, eyes trailing up and down your body. His eyebrows are both arched, and he looks… Nice, actually. He’s dressed up. You narrow your eyes suspiciously. 

“What the fuck do you want,” you ask sourly, pulling the blanket tighter. “I’m halfway through a movie, dipshit, so make it fast.“

“You’re coming out with us." 

“What? No, I’m not,” you go to swing the door shut, but that fucker sticks his foot out, shoving in past you. You almost topple over, half tripping on the blanket again, and swear loudly. 

“Seriously KK, you need to come out and do something fun. You’ve been ignoring everyone all week, and you won’t put down that shitty piece of machinery you call a phone.”

“Well its not like I want a shitty phone, I just can’t afford-“

“I’m dragging you out by your fucking ears, in your boxers, if you don’t get dressed soon.”

You glare at your friend, teeth bared. You don’t want to do anything but finish your ice cream and sob on your couch until you fall asleep (you have a lot of emotions about Jack and Rose, ok?).

“Get some fucking clothes on.”

“I hate every single piece of horseshit in your body,” you mutter, shuffling towards your bedroom. “Who the fuck is ‘we’ anyways? I’m not going anywhere with your geeky computer friends.”

“You’re taking computer programming, KK,” Sollux snickers, "You're literally my geeky computer friend." You shoot him the bird before you slam your door shut and let the blanket fall from your shoulders. Ugh, you need a shower.

Grabbing a dark grey t-shirt, clean underwear, and a pair of black jeans, you jump into the cascade of steam to quickly to scrub yourself down. You have no idea where you’re getting dragged to, or who is all going, but you’re pretty confident Sollux won’t let you stay. He’s stooped low enough to get Equius to haul you out of the house before, and you have no doubt he’ll do it again. 

When you do get out, dry off, and blow-dry your hair into something close enough to a style, you can finally shout that you’re nearly ready. You pause for a moment, however, staring at yourself in the mirror. The circles under your eyes are more pronounced - no fucking wonder, you haven’t been sleeping at all - but you’re also paler, without a mark on your skin. You arch your neck back and forth, heart beating a little harder at the sight of unmarred, mocha skin. Dave’s hickiess are gone, as if his lips had never even touched your neck. A sort of jolt makes you flinch backwards, and you try desperately to remind yourself that he’s still talking to you, and that he assured you he wants to try the relationship. 

You can't help it. Your mind races to the worst options, buzzing somewhere around a singular thought of, _'He doesn’t want to see me anymore.'_

“KK how long does it fucking take for you to get ready? We have to go, come on!” Sollux is pounding on the bathroom now, and you suck in a breath, turning to fling it open. Maybe you do need to get out. You need to get these thoughts out of your head. 

“Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s fucking go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow ok this chapter is kinda long. The next one will probably be long too. They're both kinda filler chapters to get on to other stuff, so I apologize, but it is necessary.
> 
> Once again thanks so much to everyone reading!! The feedback is wonderful, and so are all of you. <3
> 
> Karkat is so worried, my poor baby. He's trying, he really is.
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: I re-worded a few things 'cause I uploaded this last night when I was falling asleep, and apparently was incapable of fixing my grammar mistakes. I didn't change much, but I did add a little thing here and there.


	10. Come on strider, don't be a cabbagefuck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider, and you hate interviewers.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you hate interviewers. More specifically, you hate this interviewer. He’s all smiles and touches, with teeth white enough to blind a fucking hawk. You don't think you've ever seen a face shaved that carefully. There literally isn't a hair on his head out of place. In a pinstriped, pressed dress shirt, and corduroy pants, he must have been doing this shit for a long time. Weird grooming and fashion habits aside, he’s also only asking personal questions, and at least seven out of ten are shoved at you. 

“Ha ha, you don’t say, Miss Lalonde!” he’s almost in tears at Rose’s light jab. You’re pretty sure she just told him to go fuck himself in subtext, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed. She’s still smiling, but there’s a tightness around her eyes, and you're pretty glad you're not on the receiving end of that glare. 

“So, Dave," he turns to you, and you wonder if maybe he did catch the anger in her eyes. "You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?"

“No, I always encourage strangers to pretend they know me.”

“Ha! Yes, well Dave, we’ve been hearing some interesting rumours about your love life.”

Holy fajitas, another love story. You’re so surprised. Actually, you’re pretty sure its just another rumour - apparently you were in love with Betty White at some point, and there was no fucking way you were dispelling that piece of artistry - but this time your heart leaps against your ribs, painfully hard. Incidentally, this was one of the things you’d wanted to talk to Karkat about, but had never got around to. You know you’re not that big celebrity-wise, but you’re big enough that paparazzi come snooping every now and again, eager to take freaky pictures of you through your front curtains. You really don’t know how Karkat would feel being in the spotlight. And, as much as it annoys you to acknowledge, the celebrity world isn’t as open to same-sex couples as they should be. You don’t mind sticking yourself on a platter for assholes to gape at, but you’re not going to do that to him without asking. Shit, you gotta go on a first date before anything else anyways. 

You’re really glad for your neutral resting face, and your mask doesn’t break as all of this flashes through your head. You’re trying your best not to be too cold in front of the camera, but your voice is still dry when you get out, “Really. Am I getting married this time.” 

The interviewer lets out another laugh, and you can literally feel your ears withering. You would flinch if you outwardly expressed your emotions. He sounds artfully scandalized when he replies, “We’ve actually heard rumours that there’s romance blooming _within the band!_ "

You’re torn between snorting and sighing out a breath of relief. You get accused of this sort of stuff at least once every three interviews. But hey, no sightings of you and Karkles yet. Thank god. 

“Is there something going on… You know…” The man’s eyes start darting between you and Jade, and you have to try not to laugh at the expression on her face. 

“Ooh, yeah, Jade. I am all up and swooning for you,” you announce, leaning across the small couch (over both John and Rose) to hold her hand in both of yours. Jade snickers, and you can tell she’s thinking exactly what you are.

“Oh, mister Strider, I don’t know what to say!” she fans her face as though she’s flustered, and you let out a breathy chuckle. You love Jade, you really do, but you’re certainly not _in_ love with her. She’s always been close to you, though; she’s one of the few people you’ve opened up to. After the whole 'gay-for-my-best-friend' thing, you finally broke down on her couch. She’s the person you go to now. Sure, John and Rose are there for you too, but John is completely oblivious to your emotions (join the club, Egbert), and Rose is determined to pick apart all your problems. Jade’s the only one who genuinely listens to you, and doesn’t try to solve your shit. She’s just there when you need her with a bucket of Ben and Jerry's. She’s pretty god damn great.

“Oh, please, Dave isn’t my type,” Jade finally ends with, winking at you, and you pretend to look offended.

“I’m everyone’s type, Harley. You should just succumb to the attraction. Sexy Striderville, population Dave.”

“Well, after seeing you passed out in a mall fountain with nothing but a fedora covering-“

“Whoa, ok, lets not tell literally the entire world about past Dave,” you cut across, and Jade’s giggling now. The interviewer starts laughing again, like he just got a fantastic story. He’s like a hyena. You kind of want to punch him. 

“Wow, well, don’t tell me there are other romances blooming?” when he turns his attention to the others, you gratefully shut him out of your current hearing range. You don't want to hear the sort of smack-down he gets from Rose denying anything between her and John. You’re sort of tempted to pull out your cell and see if Karkat has texted you back yet, but you know that’s pushing the limits. You’ve already been a douchebag for the majority of the interview. Then again, you’re also pretty sure the fans like it when you fuck around with people, so you can’t find it in yourself to care too much.

The host's sudden, booming voice stops you before you can actually do anything.

“Thank you so much for your time, guys!” Thank god, he’s standing up, holding out a hand. This shit-show is over. “And that was Grimdark, on Radio Seven International! We hope to see you again.”

The band shakes hands with him, absconding in record time with a few small smiles and waves. It takes precisely two seconds to get out of his hearing range, and less than a third for Rose to mutter something incredibly creative he could do with a drumstick. John ends up laughing the rest of the way back to the green room.

Kanaya is waiting there already, a clipboard in hand. She doesn’t acknowledge any of you right away, saying a few things into her earpiece, before she turns it off and smiles serenely at the band. 

“None of you swore on television. I’m terribly proud.”

“It was a close encounter, but I overcame my natural instincts,” Rose sighs, walking over to sink into one of the chairs. Kanaya follows after her, almost subconsciously, and seems as though she might be whispering small comforts into Rose’s ear. 

Seriously, you’re going to confess their love if they don’t. 

“So, are we still hanging out tonight?” John cuts across your thoughts, and you turn to your friend’s ridiculously excited expression. One thing that never ceases to amaze you is just how expressive he is. You never have to ask what’s wrong, because you can read it on his face. Speaking of, there’s something a little odd with the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to tell you something. Interesting. 

“We’re going to hang like a texas cakewalk, Egderp,” you reply, and after a moment, feel a smirk turning up the left side of your mouth. John must see it too, because his eyes widen in alarm, and he looks like he's about to say something. You get there first. "Tie up your noose and let loose, we’ll be dominatin' games with beats and apple juice, you can’t begin to deduce these sick rhymes I produce, takes less than a sip to seduce, and soon you’ll find you're fresh out of use like you’ve succumbed to drug abuse-.”

“Oh my god, Dave, no, _stop_ -"

“-I won’t disabuse this white flag of truce, my rhymes will be sloshing up your stomach like sick gastric juice. Don’t be a recluse, take these rad beats I profuse, and if you wanna keep hanging with me, better start calling me Zeus. Sup.”

Jade is in fits of laughter, and John looks like he’s fighting to look exasperated around his grin. For almost a whole year, when you were both fifteen, the two of you would drop long, random rhymes at each other like that. Finally you both realized how stupid it was, and John stopped ages ago, but you still do it on occasion when you’ve got a few good words lined up.

Its completely ironic. Also hilarious. 

“That was a clever use of gastric juice,” Rose calls from across the room, and the three of you take this as your cue to wander over. (Seriously, can her and Kanaya get any closer? They’re basically sharing a seat.) 

“Mister Strider, I think your sick rhymes have finally done it,” Jade announces, fanning herself again as she flops down on the couch, “I am seduced.”

You smirk and hold a hand up for a fist bump, settling next to her. It’s been a rare few minutes you’ve had to just hang out with the band, and it feels nice to take a breather. You finally whip out your phone, seeing several notifications from Karkat. It’s been getting harder to keep your smile off your face, you’ve realized. You can’t decide if that makes you happy or freaks you out. 

WAIT ARE YOU SAYING YOU’VE NEVER WATCHED PRIDE AND PREJUDICE?  
NOT ONCE, EVEN IRONICALLY? YOU HAVEN'T SEEN MR. BINGLEY CONFESS HIS LOVE AND DEVOTION FOR JANE? OR ELIZABETH STOMP MR. DARCY’S PESSIMISM SO FAR UP HIS ASS THAT HE ENDS UP LOVING HER PLUCKY WIT AND TRANQUIL DISPOSITION? YOUR EYES HAVE NEVER SET THEIR GAZE UPON DARCY’S PULCHRITUDINOUS JACKET AS IT FLAPS BEHIND HIS SCULPTED BREECHES?  
THIS IS GOD DAMN TRAVESTY. WE CAN’T BE TOGETHER IF YOU DON’T WATCH IT AT THE NEXT OPPORTUNITY. YOU ARE AN OBTUSE, UNCULTURED SHITSPONGE.  
ALSO, HOW DID TODAY GO?

wow you really know how to woo a man with literature kit-kat  
ive fallen and i cant get up  
better put me on life support shits getting dangerous  
tell you what we can watch it together and ill even pretend its amazing while we make out  
and today was just as bad as tomorrow will be

YOU’LL ENJOY IT STRIDER JUST WAIT.  
WHAT HAPPENED?

macking on the couch?  
hell fucking yes i will  
not as much as you though  
as cousin rox would say  
wonk

oh and just another douchebag asking us questions whats new  
originality what is that is it even possible  
probably not  
pretty sure the same shit weve answered eighty times is more important  
definitely want to hear more about johns toothbrush  
how doth thy hallowed bristles spin

WOW, IT SUCKS THAT YOU HAD TO ENDURE AN INTERVIEW OF YOUR FAMOUS HIPSTER BAND FOR A WORLDWIDE RADIO STATION. HOW DARE THEY ASK ABOUT THE MEMBERS OF SAID BAND, FOR YOUNG FANS WHO DON’T KNOW ANY BETTER AND WANT TO KNOW YOU ALL? COME ON STRIDER, DON’T BE A CABBAGEFUCK. ENJOY THE FAME.

point taken kit-kat  
dont be an asshole about being famous thnx  
also that is your best insult yet  
i demand you call me cabbagefuck from now on  
oh god you better use it when we are in bed

WHAT IN THE EVERLOVING APESHIT DO I FIND ATTRACTIVE ABOUT YOU?

wonk ;)

Roxy would be proud. 

* * *

Three hours later, John’s ass is, as predicted almost a week ago, being wiped all over your carpet. You’re pretty much dominating in everything, which is literally no surprise. 

“Haha, I almost got the power-up thingy! Wait, how the fuck did you get-”

You blast him off the ledge of the building, and John watches his character fall into an abyss. You win again. Everyone is surprised. 

“Why do I even bother?” he sighs. 

“Dunno, Egbert. I win every time.”

John lets out a second, more dramatic sigh, but when he turns to look at you, he’s grinning. It has been awhile since the two of you hung out, you muse, flicking a stray wiimote at the xbox power button. As the system shuts off, you lean back on your arms, thinking about how slow the week has slugged past. You’ve never been so god-damned busy, and you’ve still felt every second of it. What a load of bullshit. 

“Hey, is pizza coming?” John asks as he shifts on the couch, stretching his arms behind him. It’s only nine-thirty but you’re both beat from the multitude of interviews, car-rides, and gigs the band has been up to. 

“Give me a sec, I’ll tap into my Lalonde psychic powers and see if I catch anything.”

“Har har. My stomach keeps grumbling, Dave! I’m wasting away in your weird apartment house.”

“You’re so impatient. Also this is Bro’s house. I don’t take credit for any of this shit.”

You think the posters are going a little too far, honestly. 

“Ugh, well your bro isn’t here, so I’m complaining to you.”

“We both know you wouldn’t complain to Bro.”

“Yeah, you’re right. He finally stopped hanging smuppets above the toilet.”

“You’re the only person in existence who has to pee three times a night.”

“I have a small bladder!”

As if to punctuate John’s exclamation, the doorbell rings twice. After a pause, it rings another three times, in quick succession.

“John, go get pizza.”

“What the fuck, no, I’m the guest here! You get the pizza.”

“John. John, do you know me. Do you know who I am John. I will literally fight you on this.”

“Agghhh,” John almost flops off the couch as he gets up, scowling at the third flurry of rings from the door. You’re too god damn tired to care about pizza at this point. You could probably sleep for a year. Or like, a healthy twelve hours. That would work too. 

“Yes, I’m coming, I'm coming- Oh, yeah.”

“I should have fuckin’ known it would be you douchebags,” the drawl sounds familiar, and you hop off the couch, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs. Wow, you didn’t think it would work. 

“Sup.”

Cronus Ampora glares up at you, a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth. It’s still smoking lightly. 

“‘Please send us the greasy 1950’s dude, will pay extra ten percent.’ Really, chief?”

“We were beginning to think Roxy was joking.”

“I was completely unsurprised ta’ hear you’re related to her,” Cronus looks pissed enough that he might pull out a switchblade. With the whole pizza-man get-up, however - hat and all - he looks impeccably harmless. It’s almost cute. 

“Hey, not everyone gets to deliver to famous people,” you reply, grabbing a folded wad of cash from your pocket and chucking it at Ampora’s face. He flinches away from it, but doesn’t quite move fast enough, having it bounce off his nose and land on top of the three pizza boxes he’s holding. 

“You li’l shrimp, I’ll fuckin’-“ he starts, snarling, but John quickly paps him on the shoulder. Its such a bizarre move, Cronus actually chokes on his own air, looking down at him in surprise. 

“Thanks for bringing us pizza, scary greaser dude. You don’t know how much I need pepperoni in my life right now.”

Cronus still looks a little baffled, and you have to hide a snort. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters, grabbing the cash and shoving the boxes at John. He goes to count the money, then lets out another annoyed hiss, seeing as you were gracious enough to give him forty hefty bucks all in one dollar bills. The glare he shoots you is murderous. 

John is doing all he can not to burst out laughing where he’s standing, watching Cronus turn an ugly shade of purple-red. 

“Hey,” you call, as Cronus turns suddenly and stomps down your porch, “Tell your bro you got to meet us, that will make you feel better.”

You don’t get a reply when John finally shuts the door. 

“Was that too mean?” he asks, carrying the boxes up the stairs, though he’s still snickering. You don’t bother answering, opening the top pizza box before he even gets all the way up. You’re so god-damn ready to do nothing, and just stuff your face with greasy pizza, and laugh until four in the morning with your palhoncho. It’s been way to fucking long since the two of you have done nothing.

You set up camp on the couch, turn on some shitty movie John’s into, and more or less talk through the whole thing. John tells you about his sister’s new bakery, and complains about how his dad is way more proud of her even though he’s a music star, gosh darn it, but he doesn’t really mind because he doesn’t want that many celebratory cakes anyways. You tell him about the new raps you’ve been working on, and even beat-box a base rhythm you’ve been playing around with for months now, even throwing out some new lyrics to consider for another hit. The two of you enthuse about music for a good half-hour, before John starts prodding about Karkat again. 

“Once, Egbert. We’ve hung out once. Why is this a novelty to you.”

“Yeah, but you two talk all the time! More than we do! I’m almost worried I'm losing my best friend status, jeez,” John makes an effort to do a pouty face, but he just looks like an idiot. “Also you’ve never been with anyone. Like, ever.”

Gee, wonder why, John.

“Dirk’s boss can attest that I have, in fact, ‘been with someone’.”

“Eww, Dave, you slept with Meenah?”

“Also,” you add, not answering that particular question, “You haven’t dropped your phone for the last week either. I know you want to spill your guts, John. Just upheave those secrets you’ve been keeping from your best bro.”

John turns a brilliant shade of scarlet, and you know you’ve hit the easy button. Jesus, he’s so simple to read. 

“Umm.”

“No point hiding it, bro. I’ll squeeze it out of you myself. Get some fucking heimlich up in your emotions, John. Just let it all out. No homo, I promise. Well fuck, its me, there’s going to be a dash of homo, let’s be honest.”

“Oh my god. Ok, just stop talking, Jesus."

“Actually I’m Dave, but close-“

“Shoosh!” John smacks both your cheeks with his hands, and you actually do fall silent, taken aback. “There. Ok, so, there’s this thing…” he begins, chewing on his bottom lip. You wait for a further explanation for a good minute, quietly watching his face change from one emotion to the next, randomly turning different shades of red. 

“Spit, poet,” you finally break the silence, and John lets out a bizarre laugh, letting his face drop into his hands. Holy shit, he’s really hung up on whatever this is.

“Fuck, ok, ok. I’ve been talking to a girl.”

“Well god, I know Rose isn’t that feminine, but I could have told you that-“

“Dave! I’ve been talking to a girl, that I met at one of our concerts. The one after you met Karkat, actually.”

You’re silent for a moment, processing. Your first thought is _holy shit, John Egbert got a girl’s number_ , but then you remember you’re both actually famous now. Still, you’re kind of impressed. But then when did he...

“Did you meet her when you hurled backstage?” 

“Oh my god, not the point, Dave! The point is that I really like this girl and I think she likes me too, and she wants to meet up again, and I don’t know what to do!”

“Uh, meet up, duh.”

“No you don’t get it,” John huffs, and he looks away, biting on his lip again. You watch quietly, deciding to let him get this shit out on his own. Finally, he begins, ”You’re Dave Strider. You’re all cool, and chill, and literally everyone likes you.“

Haha, uh, no, John. “Well I wouldn’t-“

“-No, shoosh! Let me talk. Everyone likes you,” John continues, pushing his glasses back into place, “And I’m just John. I’m not good at being confident or flirty or whatever the heck else celebrities are supposed to be! And she’s _really_ pretty.”

You watch John tug a pillow over to his chest and hug it, burying his face into the cushion. Holy fuck ok, when John Egbert grabs a pillow, you know shit’s serious. 

“You’re honestly hung up on that?”

“Well, yeah,” John mumbles, still with a face full of cushion. 

“John, give me- nope, bro, give me the pillow, no plush shit with bro talk. Strider rule.” You force the cushion out of his hands, and John gives a defeated sigh, staring at you instead. Man, he looks like a kicked puppy.

“Ok look, she’s talking to you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And she liked you enough when you were ungraciously painting the alley wall of the club, right?”

“I didn’t-! Ok, fuck, yeah.”

“And has she dropped any hints that she wants stupid-expensive gifts or anything?”

“What? No.”

“There you go,” you finish, but John is still staring at you blankly, so you elaborate. “She likes you at your worse. She talks to you regularly. And so far hasn’t tried to mooch off your fame. I think its safe to sat she’s interested in you for just being John.”

“Oh.”

John’s face stays contemplative, and it doesn’t change as he reflects on everything you’ve said. You can tell this is going to take awhile, and you can only jam about emotions for so long. Best to just let him think. You end up flipping out your phone, scrolling through Karkat’s latest replies. Something about seeing an angry wall of grey text makes your stomach twist. 

Your phone buzzes when you’re halfway through reading another rant, and you almost ignore it, 'cause it's from Bro. Something at the end catches you eye, however, and you quickly go back into your messages to open it up. 

Guess who just showed up at Pufferfish.

is it howie mendel  
i know how you feel about howie mendel  
dont worry you have my full blessing to creep on old game show hosts

No, you little shit. It's your new boy toy. He looks lost.

wait karkat is at pufferfish?

Wow you used punctuation. You must be serious.  
Hold on, you're not coming over here, are you?  
You are.  
See you in twenty then.

 

“John, how do you feel about provocative strip clubs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this took so long I'm so sorry.  
>  ~~I almost like picking the chapter titles more than writing the chapters.~~
> 
> Ok so its kind of another filler but hey random cronus appearances and bro-hangouts. There are worse things. And of course more Davekat is coming up. 
> 
> Thanks so much again, to everyone reading!! I promise I'm not dropping this fic or anything, I'm just hella busy. I'm mostly cramming writing into my weekends (when I should be studying but) so yeah, like I said, sorry for the lack of recent updates. 
> 
> Also I'll probably be going through some of the older chapters and just fixing 'em up a bit?? Possible re-wording here and there?? Changing character blips, etc?? Nothing major but I'm letting you know.


	11. strawberries are the shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you’re going to throttle Sollux Captor.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you’re going to throttle Sollux Captor.

“Come on, Kk, stop moping around like a hooker in church.”

“How can you possibly enjoy this clusterfuck!? I can’t hear my own thoughts around the raging headache making passionate love to my ear canals. I can literally feel my brain getting pounded by the baseline, you corrupt dicklicker. Why, in the name of whatever piss-poor deity decided your creation would be a good idea, did you bring me here?”

You’re not exaggerating the headache. Spastic beats and techno melodies are blasting from one end of the club, where a mosh pit is writhing beneath the low-lights. Splashes of colour dance over the crowd, but you can’t make out details. You’re more or less grateful you can’t see more than you have. 

On the opposite side of joint, where you’re currently slouching at a small table, is a bar and seating area. The air is buzzing from people talking, and flirting, buying drinks and laughing. At least three girls have tried to catch your eye, and a surprisingly attractive business man as well, but the glares you’ve been shooting seem to have warded everyone off so far. 

Of course, right in between the music and the drinks is where the strippers are set up. You’ve never really been into strip clubs; you feel uncomfortable watching people you don’t know, even though its their job, and they’re very good at it. 

“We’re supposed to be having fun, shitstain. Come over and dance with us for Christ’s sakesth.”

You glare pointedly into the two-toned glasses of your friend, eyes still narrowed. He’s flushed from dancing - grinding up on Aradia, you’re sure - and his clothes are a mess. He’s in a pair of black jeans and a mustard-yellow, button-up top. It’s easily the best he’s looked in the six years you’ve known him. Megido has worked wonders on him, honestly. 

“I don’t enjoy humping whoever’s ass happens to be in front of me, thank you very fucking much,” you finally spit out, grabbing the glass of whiskey you ordered earlier and shooting back whatever's left. If you’re going to be here for any period of time, you’re going to need more. 

“Open your hearing ducts, bitchtits, I said _with us_. I bet NP is drunk enough to let you dance with her.”

“Oh, wow, take advantage of poor, precious little Nepeta! What the fuck Sollux that’s pretty low, even for a shitsniffer like you.”

“Well, seeing as she’d like to dance with you, I don’t think that really counts,” Sollux replies drily, and you roll your eyes, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. “Come on, you know I’m fucking around. Just come hang out with us for once. I’m getting tired of dragging your anti-social ass around.”

You want nothing more than to bury your head in your hands and pretend you’re not in the middle of a sleazy club, but you also know you're being an asshole. You did want to get out of the house.

“Ok,” you grumble, standing suddenly. Sollux actually grins, letting out one of his ridiculous ‘ehehehe’ laughs. You reluctantly follow him through the crowd, weaving in and out of ladies decked out in silky dresses, and guys in dress-pants and glitter. Wearing only a pair of grey jeans and one of your v-necked black t-shirts, you're a tad underdressed. Honestly the last place you thought you’d be going tonight was Pufferfish. 

The lady that runs this place, Meenah, is Feferi’s sister, so your whole group gets regular invitations to come enjoy the night. You guess she finally took her up on it. You can make out Terezi and Vriska as you get closer to the dance floor, and then Aradia and Eridan when the lights change. Surprisingly, they’re all dancing in a relatively harmless way, genuinely forming a circle on the edge of the crowd. You get flashbacks to Senior prom, noting that the only thing missing is Nepeta clinging to- oh, no, there she is, literally wrapped around a guy you don’t recognize. You can almost picture Equius’s disapproving gaze.

“Karkat, you smell delicious tonight,” Terezi sees you - sniffs you? - first, flitting through the crowd until she’s next to your shoulder. She takes another deep breath, by your ear, and lets out a _hmm_. “Never mind, there’s the self-crippling hatred and tears. Were you watching Titanic again?”

You roll your eyes at her grin, aware that she can’t actually see you do it, but you’re sure she can hear the sarcasm when you reply, “You would know what tears smell like. You probably steal candy from children and laugh when they cry. Boo-hoo, grub-face, your sour patch kids are mine!”

Terezi doesn’t bother answering, but she does wink, dragging you into the circle of friends. This is so stupid, you think, watching Eridan do some bizarre shuffling motion. Feferi is laughing and trying to copy him, and they both end up looking like part of a drunk marching band. 

Sollux had hurried back to Aradia’s side, and now they’re swirling back and forth together, surprisingly PG. She’s wearing a black dress with a skull printed on the shirt, and it waves around as Sollux spins her back and forth. They’re pretty cute, you grudgingly admit, and try very hard not to wish someone else was here with you. 

You determinedly do not check you phone.

The only two missing from your group tonight are Gamzee and Tavros, mostly because Tavros didn't feel like going, and Gamzee is too big of a sap to leave without him. You kind of wish they were here, so you would have an excuse to sit around for the rest of the night.

You end up getting dragged into dancing with Terezi. The two of you spin awkwardly together, and step on each other’s toes, tripping over every other foot. It’s no secret that you’re shit at dancing, and she can’t even see where she’s stepping, so you’re both destined to fail before you begin. Still, after a while you realize that you’re actually enjoying yourself. You’ve missed being with everyone, no matter how fucking annoying they get. You even end up giggling with Terezi when the two of you finally vault head over heels, landing ungraciously on the disgusting floor. 

If you'd been doing this two years ago, everything would be stiff and awkward. You’d almost had a thing with her, only to royally fuck up any chances by taking everything too seriously. You pushed and pulled too hard at an idea that sounded better than it had actually been. You were so convinced that she was perfect for you, or that she would somehow fix your problems, until you realized it was like trying to shove the wrong piece into the last gap of a puzzle.

When you finally understood how big of a douchewagon you were being, you ended up buying her a tub of cherry-flavoured ice-cream, and just hanging out for a whole night. Since then you’ve been close friends. 

“Careful, Karkles, you’re grinning,” she snickers as you pull her back to her feet. You can’t even force a scowl into place. 

“I still don’t know how you smell facial expressions,” is what you end up replying with, only to have Terezi lick a stripe up your cheek. “Eugh, what the fuck!”

Terezi cackles again, sticking out her tongue in a roguish way, and you swipe your hand across your face to get her spit off. 

“You’re disgusting, god only knows where that's been!”

“No-where near as exciting as your face,” Terezi wiggles her eyebrows, and you’re pretty sure that's more than a subtle inquiry about Dave. You groan in response, cheeks heating, and mumble something along the lines of shoving her curiosity where the light never touches.

Great, now you’re thinking about him. Again.

* * *

Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re impressed with how fast you can drive with the proper incentive. You don’t think John’s quite as impressed, judging by his white knuckles gripping the seat, and the repeated, pointed glares he keeps shooting you. You don’t really care. 

So you’re both stupid tired. And there are three boxes of pizza back at home that are getting cold. And neither of you have any good memories of Pufferfish, and maybe you’re the biggest asshole for dragging John out here along with you. But how are you going to give up this opportunity? 

Yeah, this is probably the dumbest fucking idea you’ve ever had, but the thought of seeing Karkat again overpowers what little logic you have. Sleep and pizza can wait their god-damn turns. You’ve fucking missed him, and his stupid frowny face, and his messy hair, and the bags under his eyes. You didn’t get enough time with him when you met, and now you want more. 

Sue you.

“You owe me so much, Dave Strider,” John grits out in the passenger seat, and you wave one hand dismissively at his face. 

“Trust me, you won’t regret this. We will have an awesome night, cross my turn-tables.” You pause, then add, "And you know I don’t fuck around with baby.”

“You mean _you’ll_ have an awesome night, and I’ll end up getting drunk and crying on some girl’s shoulders about my problems?”

Oh, yeah, that was a thing that happened. Good times. You don’t laugh, because you’re pretty sure at least some part of John wants to kill you.

“We’ll get you some fruity shots, Egbert, and you’ll be happy.”

“You can’t buy my happiness!”

“You can buy strippers, thats close enough.”

“Uggghhhhh.”

You finally pull into the club, and do a pretty shoddy job of parking before vaulting yourself out of your car. _Whoa, not cool Dave, settle down._ You have to pretend your heart isn’t thrumming against your ribs, pulsing blood through your fingertips. 

(You haven’t questioned why Karkat’s in there yet, because Pufferfish is a sketchy place at best, and a building-full-of-mistakes-waiting-to-happen at worse. You've decided don’t really care, as long as you get to see him.) 

The bouncer lets the two of you through right away, actually recognizing you as John and Dave from Grimdark. You’re pretty sure you’re still on the list anyways, but you won’t complain about efficient door access. 

Stepping into the club, it’s just as bad as you remember. And by bad, you also mean striking. It might not seem like a lot from the outside, but everyone knows the shit inside is expensive. If Pufferfish wasn’t run on an underground of hookers, drug deals, and mafia members, you’re pretty confident it would be one of the most popular clubs in the city. As it is, there’s always a full line of people paying to get inside, and a dance floor teeming with enough bodies to give the entire building energy.

You can already recognize Bro’s music, though you’ve never heard this particular piece. You know for a fact its new, because Dirk has a policy about his remixes; he never plays the same song twice. It’s probably why Meenah loves him so much, you muse, pushing through some people to head around the left outer edge of the dancers. He does most of his shit right up front, with only a few base beats created at home to work with. You’ll never tell him, but you think it’s really fucking impressive.

You just have to try and get to him.

John fists his hand in the back of your shirt as you fight through the throng of moving bodies. You’re willing to bet Bro knows exactly where Karkat is, but that doesn’t stop your eyes from darting through every face, searching for something familiar. Unfortunately, you don’t see signs of him anywhere. He’s probably too short for you to see anyways.

At that thought, you literally have to fight back a grin.

In a span of ten or so minutes, you and John finally shove your way to the opening of the DJ booth, where another security guard is stationed. He knows who you are by now, and simply meets your first-bump with a neutral expression as you push past. 

Bro is hunched over his turn-tables, head bobbing lightly to the music, fingers darting back and forth on the board. It's like watching Dumbledore cast spells without actually speaking; you hate how effortless it looks. He doesn’t acknowledge you until the song rolls into a finish, and he flips a switch, letting a resting track play (he mixes a few of those at home, too - always new ones - for when he wants to take a break. If nothing else, he’s fucking dedicated).

“Hey lil man. Egbert.”

“Sup,” you greet loudly, feeling the vibrations of the music run up from the soles of your feet. You might be the famous one, but Dirk is a god with mixes. You won’t admit how much you love his stuff. 

“I need a drink,” is all Bro responds with, heading back towards the exit. You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from snapping at him, instead following silently. You know he’s not going to help you find Karkat until he has another beer in him.

“We could have been eating pizza right now,” John complains as you grudgingly head back down to the crowd, his hand still plastered your shirt so you don’t get separated. “And sleeping. We could have eaten pizza, then gone to bed.”

“Sleep is for old people,” you respond, getting a snort out of your friend. You know he only tagged along this easily because he’s curious to see Karkat again. You still scan the faces as you pass, but as expected, see nothing close to the mop of hair you remember. You just want to see him, god damn it. The pulse in your ear has gotten impossible to ignore, and you’re ready to just start scoping the place yourself. You are literally _this close_ to composing music. 

Eventually you break through the mosh of people, and its a little easier to breathe. 

“Hey, Dave?”

Oh, god. “Egbert, no. I know that voice. That’s your, ‘I know this is a bad time, but you need to help me find the bathroom’ voice.”

“Daaaave. I have to go.”

“John. No. Fuck no.”

“Dave, I’m serious! I will pee on everything you hold close to you. Your clothes, and your computer. And especially your turn-tables. I will do it. I might even pee in a bottle, and tell you it’s apple juice, and-”

“Jesus Christ, Egbert, I hate you. Bro, hold up,” Dirk turns at your voice, but he doesn’t really slow down. You try not to sound too exasperated as you say, “I’m showing this idiot where the bathroom is. Meet you at the couch.”

He nods once, and you grab John’s arm, hauling him past the strippers and towards the bathrooms. Damn him and his small bladder.

* * *

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and it’s been a few months since you’ve played any drinking games. Between school and work and other shit, you haven’t really had time to get drunk off your face, and you’re sort of overdue. At least, that’s the reason you give yourself for agreeing to play Never Have I Ever. 

“Never have I ever… Given a blowjob in a bathroom stall,” Nepeta settles on, and you’re thankful you don’t have to drink to that one. Terezi, Eridan, and to your surprise, Aradia, all kick back theirs. 

“Hm, ok,” Aradia smacks her lips, "Never have I ever fallen asleep in public.”

You take a shot, along with Eridan again, Sollux, and Nepeta. 

“Never have I ever… Shit, what haven’ I done?” Eridan mutters, and you have to wonder about that, too. He's had the most to drink so far. “Never have I ever kissed a Juggalo.”

Well, fuck. You have to concede to that one. To your surprise, Terezi downs hers too.

“Fuck, really?” you ask, and you feel like you should be more upset, but you’re just surprised. She winces, shrugging one shoulder.

“You too?”

You nod, trying not to grimace. Gamzee is your best friend, but nothing was weirder than getting his clown paint smudged all over your face. You love him, but you have zero desire to get that acquainted with his tongue again. In retrospect, drunk making out with your best friend was a horrible idea before it even happened.

Vriska, who hasn’t had nearly as many drinks as you’d expect, contemplates hers for awhile. Finally she says, “Never have I ever kissed an Ampora.”

You almost snort, not expecting anyone to drink. From the look on Eridan’s face, he doesn’t expect it, either. To everyone’s utter surprise, Feferi drowns hers. 

Eridan stares for a moment, eyes wide. “But we never…?“

Feferi looks down at her feet, and realization hits everyone simultaneously. 

“You kissed _Cronus!?_ ”

“Eridan, calm down, it’s not like that-“

“You _kissed_ him! You’ve fuckin’ kissed my greaser brother, but you’ve never kissed me!?”

“What!? I went to a party with Meenah, and we played seven minutes in heaven, that’s it! It’s not like there’s a thing going on, jeez. It was just once-!"

Eridan stands ubruptly, and turns tail in a flurry of emotions. Feferi has the sense to look horrible, and she chews on her bottom lip for a moment, before getting up and running after him. 

“Holy shit,” Sollux breaks the silence, and you don’t know if you should laugh or run after them. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” Aradia is glaring at Vriska, and the latter only shrugs. You can tell by the glint in her eye that yes, she definitely did know. You almost round on her yourself, but she lets out a dramatic sigh before you can do anything, and stands from the table.

“I’m bored of this dumb game. I’m going to go dance some more,” she throws over her shoulder, and saunters off. 

“Bitch,” you hear Terezi mutter, and you have to agree. She has no concept of boundaries any more. You don’t know when the switch flipped from snarky to underhanded and cold, but it makes you a little sad. You remember in middle school when Vriska and Terezi had their stupid role-play thing, and the worse thing that ever happened was a double-timed, fictional conspiracy. Those were good days.

“Well, its my turn,” Sollux announces, apparently determined to continue the game. You’re not sure anyone’s really feeling it anymore, but you don’t say anything. You almost immediately regret this decision. “Never have I ever fucked a member of Grimdark.”

If you had anything in your mouth, it would be sprayed across the table. You splutter for a second, choking on your spit, and hack into the crook of your arm, eyes watering. For the love of God, seriously?

“Pretty sure you have to drink to that one, shorty.”

 _Are you fucking kidding!?_ You flinch violently at the familiar voice, swinging around to come face-to-streaming-face with the hulking figure of Dirk Strider. This isn't happening.

Fuck your life. Fuck your life so hard right now.

* * *

Your name is Dave Strider, and you didn’t think it was possible for someone to pee as long as John has. You’re leaning on the wall outside the bathrooms, trying not to look weird or sleazy, and probably failing. Seriously, how long has it been? A glance at your phone informs you its been close to nine minutes. What the everloving fuck is taking him so long? 

Normally you would wait another five minutes before barging in there like a concerned mama bear, but you’re getting impatient. Karkat is out there somewhere, and you’re not with him, and that is the furthest you can be from ok. 

You decide to screw everything and head inside. “You better be dying.”

A startled grunt comes from the closest stall, and something bangs against the wall, followed by an, “Ow!”

“John?” you ask, unimpressed at the scrambling you hear. There’s another bang or two, a zipper being done up, and the flush of the toilet. When John comes out, he’s blinking blearily against the lights. 

“You fell asleep on the fucking toilet.”

John just stares at you, eyes still squinted, before heading over to wash his hands. You want to bash your head into the wall. 

“Sorry,” he eventually mumbles, looking a tad sheepish, and you shake your head slightly. 

“Only John Egbert,” you almost sigh, and he grins a little, rubbing at one of his eyes. Damn him and his cute, puppy-dog sleepy face. You can’t stay mad at your best bro. 

“Ok, let’s go find your boyfriend,” John grins, and just hearing Karkat in that context sends a spark through your chest. He’s here, you remind yourself, and you can’t wait another god damn minute. You lead the way out of the bathroom, heading for Bro’s favourite couch. Almost no-one else sits there, cause it’s the rattiest one in the joint. That’s probably why he likes it so much. You’ve been setting up camp there for years. Hell, it’s probably the first one he ever sat on. 

You’re only halfway there when you think you catch a glimpse of Bro's hat. You pause, turning your full gaze to where he's standing over a random table. What's he doing? Your eyes dart over him, and then to a guy sitting in a chair off his right side. You recognize the guy, you realize with a jolt. He’d been with Karkat at the concert. 

Your heart does another dive through your chest when Bro shifts to the side, because you catch a familiar flash of dark hair. 

* * *

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and there is exactly nothing in this club that could cheer you up right now. It was fun while it lasted, you had a good time, whatever-the-fuck-else people say when they want to politely leave. You’re ready to go. 

“Doin’ alright then, kid?” Dirk asks, and a smirk you know very well sits at the edge of his mouth. It’s uncanny, you realize, how much he looks like Dave. Unfortunately, he isn’t Dave. He isn’t, and he’s still got those stupid anime shades, and you don’t like that seeing him makes your heart pound because you associate him with Dave. 

“No, actually. I’m going home,” you growl, going to stand. You don’t even have the energy to tell him to go screw himself with a pair of broken scissors. Dirk’s hand pushes you unceremoniously back into your seat, however, and you make another spitting noise, glaring up into his shades. You take that back, you'll find the rusty blades yourself. “The hell are you doing!?”

“I guarantee you don’t want to leave yet,” he drawls, smirk widening, and you would seriously consider punching him if you weren’t painfully aware of how good he is at using a sword. You pointedly turn in your seat, meeting several of your friends gazes. All of them look confused, uncomfortable, and wide eyed. 

“Friends, asshole. Asshole, friends,” you mutter. Dirk actually chuckles behind you, and you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Fuck you, he even sounds like Dave. _Ugh._

“Dirk Strider, nice to meet ya,” he greets, and this gets a few more noticeable reactions from your friends. Sollux makes a strained noise in the back of his throat, and Nepeta almost snorts some liquor out her nose. 

You scoff and start to say, “He’s not that impressive-“ Just as another voice adds, “-And I’m Dave. Sup.”

You almost give yourself whiplash, you turn around so fast. Dirk takes a step back, and amazingly, incredibly, _impossibly_ , there is Dave Strider, standing right beside him. God, he looks… Ok, pretty shitty all things considered, but he's right here in front of you. He’s slouched, shoulders drawn in and head tilted. He looks a little paler than usual, and sort of drawn out and bony, as though he hasn’t slept well in the past week. And oh, Christ, his hair is sticking up a little, parted more on his forehead, like he just left the house. By his sides his hands twitch, and you can almost imagine them sliding over his turn-tables again. 

He’s beautiful. 

Dark blue skinny jeans hang off Dave's slender hips, and his grey shirt (a pyjama shirt? Why does that turn you on, fuck) doesn’t exactly hug his body, but it’s fitted enough that you can clearly recall the curve of his collarbones, and the arches of muscle along his thin body. 

Were you complaining about being tired before? You’ve never felt more awake, nerves buzzing at the sudden possibility, the thought, that he’s right here and he’s yours and-

And fuck, everyone is still staring at you. They need to leave. You want to punt every single miserable fuck out of the club and launch yourself at Dave, and just spend an hour tracing his body with your lips until you never forget the curves of his bones or the scars on his abdomen. He’s here, he’s finally here, and you’ve been waiting for a whole fucking week just to see him, and everyone is _in the god damn way_.

“Karkat! Long time no see,” a perky voice manages to tear your eyes away from Dave, but only long enough to take in John. Oh, that's right - Dave had said he’d be busy tonight, “Slamming Egbert’s ass so far into my carpet, we’ll be washing it for weeks.” Which, granted, hadn’t sounded any better when he’d actually said the words to you on the phone.

“Hi, I’m John!” he waves enthusiastically, and you don’t have to look over your shoulder to imagine how your friends are responding. There’s a collective, stunned silence, and you worry for a second that they won’t say anything. Of course, then you catch sight of Dave again, and you don’t care. 

Finally, “Hello! I’m Aradia, and this is Sollux. That’s Nepeta, and that’s Terezi. We’ve heard all about you!”

A round of quick ‘Hi’s’ are exchanged, and then there’s another silence, one you don’t know what to do with. You're itching to bolt up and drag Dave somewhere, anywhere. You feel like a chord is stuck to your sternum, and it keeps tugging you towards him. Is the sudden flush up your back from the alcohol or Dave?

“You smell like strawberries,” Terezi eventually says, and you glance backwards finally, enough to catch her eyebrows wriggle. 

"Yeah, strawberries are the shit.”

“Bet you like cherries too, huh, coolkid?”

“Damn straight.”

Your cheeks burn red too now, and you’re very aware of the cherry-scented cologne you have on. Your eyes stray back to Dave, and even though you can’t see through his shades, you get the impression that his eyes are on you. Heat spreads to other parts of your body, and you have to look away in a valiant effort not to become flustered. 

“Well, I’ve gotta head back to the booth,” Dirk finally cuts in, and your eyes flicker over to where he’s standing with his arms crossed. You can’t see past his shades either, but you can tell how amused he is by the one, delicately arched eyebrow. “Friendly reminder that you’re all at a fuckin’ club. For the love of god, go be irresponsible and enjoy yourselves.”

With a wave he walks off, and everyone exchanges uneasy glances. What now? Your personal vote would be for everyone to fuck off so you can be alone with Dave, but that seems a little rude.

Eventually Egbert pushes the group into a mutual decision: “Well, we’re already here. Lets fucking dance!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agggghhhh ok this is a sad excuse for actual davekat but there is some and _it is coming ok cute fluffy crap is around the corner_. Who knows maybe there will be heated make-out sessions. I mean, I'm not saying that there will be but. It might happen. Who knows.  
>  Wonk. ;)
> 
> Thanks so much again to everyone, jesus on a cracker. This fic has already gotten more attention than I thought it was going to, and you're all so supportive, and it gives me the happies.
> 
> Also I decided to actually make a [homestuck blog](http://kissoftreachery.tumblr.com)?? I'll probably post updates and stuff there, if enough people are interested. ~~Plus I need more homestucks to follow so hit me up maybe??~~


	12. That was an acceptable hello.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re suddenly second-guessing your decision to come.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re suddenly second-guessing your decision to come. 

Not that you’re _regretting_ your decision, but everything is sort of snapping into perspective. First of all, you don’t even have proper clothes on; why the fuck didn’t you get changed? You look like a huge tool. You’re still half in your pyjamas, and you’re pretty sure you haven’t washed them in, like, a week, and seriously, who goes to a club like this? You didn’t even style your hair, jesus fuck. You probably look like you rolled off your bro’s couch with a bottle of beer in one hand and cum stains on your jeans. 

Wait, you don’t actually-? No, thank fuck. 

You also overlooked the important fact that no shit, dickmonkey, Karkat is with a group of his friends. This leaves you with a) no time to make out, and b) a gaggle of disbelieving onlookers no matter what you do. Being mildly famous did nothing what-so-fucking-ever to remove the pressure of other people judging you, and you’re having a hard time saying or doing anything without being ragingly aware of everyone’s eyes on you. 

You don’t care how stupid or cliche it is, you want Karkat’s friends to like you. Your current life goals include sucking face at least three times a day with him, and that's going to be a little awkward if none of them can stand you. You have no idea what yellow thinks (the guy wearing multi-coloured shades, which are admittedly cool as fuck), though you’re pretty sure his girlfriend, skull-shirt (really bushy hair) is trying to be nice. The shortest one, wearing a cat hat (you can’t deny she’s pretty fucking adorable) keeps eyeing you and Karkat like you’re a particularly good piece of fanfiction, and despite how cute she is, she’s giving you some hella creepy smiles. 

The only name you actually remember right away is Terezi, and that’s because of her cherry comment. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to give her a fist-bump or ask her why she’s been smelling up your man, but you soon figure out that she literally smells everybody - “Mmhm, strawberries and pizza. How do you feel about the justice system, coolkid?” - and out of all of Karkat’s friends, she’s the funniest. She ends up attaching to your side and shooting out weird observations from the people drinking around you, ones apparently only her delicate schnoz is capable of picking up. Examples are as follows:

“He uses beeswax on his eyebrows.”

“Is there a lady over there with poofy black hair? No, I just figured her hair-do would match her poodle.”

“You didn’t even change before you left the house. You’re like a tub of cool whip, huh?”

“That’s not mayonnaise, Dave."

You’re glad you’re good at keeping a stoic front because there’s a plethora of natural reactions that rear up in your chest, and you are one-hundred percent certain nobody would appreciate them. Terezi is officially donned your favourite within the first ten minutes, despite the continually suggestive comments she drops. 

You’d feel sort of bad for hanging around with her instead of Karkat if he wasn’t being consistently dragged around by the annoying yellow one. The only plus to this is that Karkat keeps shooting you equally as annoyed looks, and you know at least that he wants some alone time too. Neither of you can get a word in edge-wise, and it doesn’t help much that John is still bouncing around you like an idiot. He’s gotten along good with cat-girl so far, and from the looks they both shoot your way, you can only imagine the topic of conversation. 

It isn’t until everyone’s had a couple more drinks, and John is vehemently insisting you all need to dance, that you get the chance to grab Karkat. 

You trail behind the group of friends, and watch as he finally drops back to talk to Terezi instead of Sollux (at least their names are kind of hard to forget once you do know them). He’s glancing around the group, and your stomach does a sort of swoop when you realize he’s looking for you. 

You dart in between the two of them before a real conversation can start, effectively startling Karkat and making Terezi grin. “Gonna have to take him off your hands,” you nod once to her, but don’t give either of them time to respond before you’ve got Karkat’s wrist in your hand. You try valiantly to ignore the constant thrum of hypersensitivity radiating through your arm as you drag him away, but it's sort of hard when you're so aware of the body stumbling behind you. You need to be closer to him, like right now. You pull him all the way towards the bathrooms, and then down the hall and around a corner, until you’re in the small space between the fire escape and the set of staff stairs. Remember to breathe, Dave.

“Where the hell are you-? Oompf!”

You shove Karkat up against the wall, not wasting time. Your hearts still pounding, almost in time with the music thrumming through the floor, as your eyes rake over his face. He’s flushed, eyes staring up at you with blown pupils. It takes barely a flicker of his tongue over his bottom lip for you to crash into him. 

The kiss is everything but gentle. You push your chest flush against his, hands grasping at the base of his hair as your mouths twist together, and all you can think is _Karkat Karkat Karkat_. A sort of growl resonates at the back of his throat, and you groan in response, already aware of his tongue pushing past your lips. His hands are digging into your sides, hard enough that you’re almost certain there will be bruises later (god, you hope so). You’re clutching at each other like a pair of Jade’s squiddles, but you give zero fucks because _jesus_ you’ve missed how he tastes. You’re both battling for dominance, but you’re enjoying yourself too much to put up a fight, and you let his tongue run along the inside of your bottom lip. He sucks the whole thing into his mouth and pulls lightly, making your head spin. 

When he drags his head away, it’s only to scrape his teeth along your jawline. You make a sound embarrassingly close to a whimper, clutching him closer. Apparently it doesn’t matter who’s pushing who against a wall, because Karkat takes the dominant position, tugging your head to the side so he can attack your neck with bites and kisses. 

You clamp your mouth shut, despite the sounds still rising up your throat.

When Karkat pulls away for good, both of you panting and pressed chest to chest, he gives you a satisfied smirk. “That was an acceptable hello.”

“Acceptable?” You pretend you don’t sound breathy, flicking your shades back into place. His nose almost knocked them off your face. "You almost creamed yourself, Karkitten.”

“Says you,” And then Karkat’s thigh is pressing in between your legs and _oh, hello, yes, we’re standing at half-mast, captain_.

" _Fu_ \- Unless you want to have sex in a club bathroom, I’m gonna request you stop- mmng, fuck, _that_.”

Karkat rolls his hips once more, brushing dangerously close to the growing bulge in your pants, before gently pushing you away from him. You almost don’t move, but then again, you know exactly how often those bathrooms are thoroughly cleaned, and it isn’t often enough. 

Still, you don’t get very far away before Karkat’s grabbing you a second time, kissing you with a little less urgency and a little more ferocity. He hums lightly into your mouth, hands gripping your back again, and your own fingers twine a little more gently into his hair. Heat thrums through every inch of your body, and you decide you definitely have too many clothes on. Why were you worrying before? You’re deciding right now that anything involving Karkat is automatically a good idea.

You back up until you’re leaning on the opposite wall, letting the concrete cool your flushed back. Your mouths are moving almost lazily, but there’s still sparks dancing over your lips, and tingles moving up through your tongue. Your hands move to his back, trailing down either side of his spine until you grab a handful of his incredibly nice ass. Karkat makes a surprised sound into your mouth, but he doesn’t push you away. Mm, you could probably make-out with Karkat forever. 

When you finally break away, he sets his head on your shoulder, breath ghosting across your neck. “I missed you way too much, you fucker,” he mumbles almost angrily into your skin, and your chest does a weird flip.

“We talked almost every day, dude.”

“I missed _you_ ,” Karkat reiterates, poking your chest with his fore-finger, “Being with _me_.”

“Aw, did you watch all of my interviews while we were apart?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You snicker at the blush creeping up his cheeks, and your chest does the squeezy thing again. Joking aside, Karkat spending any amount of time thinking about you makes your body tingle. You peck him lightly on the neck as a sort of apology, trying to convey that hey, you missed his stupid face too.

The two of you stand there for what could have been two or ten minutes, simply holding the other close. You figure this would feel pretty awkward with anyone else - you’d probably be second-guessing yourself, and start rambling to fill the silence. Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re buzzed, or maybe you’re tired, but you don’t feel weird at all. You like just standing with him, breathing him in.

Also, hell yes, you love cherries. 

“I guess we should get back before those assholes come looking,” Karkat grumbles, and you have to fight the urge to sigh. Half of you wants to suggest you just go back to your place, but it’s not like you can strand John here. Sure, he could catch a ride with Bro, but you’re not that big of a douche. 

Eventually you say, “Yeah, we don’t want them worrying about your sorry ass.”

Karkat pushes off you, looping his arms over his chest. “That better not have been a innuendo, Strider, because god help me, I will pound you so far into the foundations of this shithole that you won’t even be able to hear the raving elephant cacophony your brother calls music.”

“You’ll _pound me_.”

“You know that’s not what I fucking meant!” 

“I think your innuendo was better than mine."

Karkat’s cheeks are red again as the two of you head back towards the dance floor. You manage to keep a grin off your face, but barely.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert, and wow, you love fruity drinks!

You don’t care what anyone says, they actually taste really good. Most alcohol is shit, and you honestly don’t know how people suffer through it. That's probably why you don’t drink very often - you only drink the stuff that _tastes good_ , and you have no idea how to make them. You usually end up having Roxy make you some, or just buying them when you’re out. 

Er, you also don’t drink much because you’re kind of a lightweight. You mean, you’re not that bad! But you guess you get tipsy faster than the average Joe. Which is why five fruity shots in a row was prroobbaaaabbllyyyy a bad idea... But hey, you might as well have fun, right?

Right!

You more or less just follow Karkat’s friends into the frenzy of dancers, holding on to Nepeta’s hand. She’s so nice and funny and you’ve decided she’s going to be your new friend! You’re both giggling, though you can’t exactly remember why. You’re stumbling a little, but she seems to be walking fine, despite the impressive seven shots she downed. 

“John, I’m so glad we’re furriends meow!” she exclaims, swinging you around until the two of you are spinning into the crowd of people. 

“Me too!” You grin earnestly. After a moment you re-think what you said, and amend it to, “Me _mew_. Hah!”

Nepeta giggles, and the two of you sway back and forth on the dance floor. Nepeta’s actually really good at dancing, and she bounces along with the music, but you’re ridiculously off-beat. You think that might be because your head is still spinning, but you’ll also admit it’s because you’re a terrible dancer. Dave’s tried to teach you before, but your legs don’t like to cooperate. 

Speaking of Dave… Where did he run off to?

You pause in your terrible dancing and gaze through the people, looking out for blonde hair. The lights make it hard to concentrate, and you push aside a small wave of dizziness, blinking a few times. The people are moving too fast, bobbing back and forth to the thrumming beats of the baseline, bodies twisting together. You scan them either way, catching sight of Aradia and Sollux at one point, but no blondes. Oh, hold on! You think you see a flash of light, and you take a step towards it.

Oh, no, she’s a girl. Actually, she looks a little like…

Oh god. You make eye-contact, and there’s no way you wouldn’t remember. She’s wearing a tight, navy blue dress, and heels that look like they could crush a man’s skull. You think she mouths your name, teeth flashing, and your entire stomach drops down. 

“John!” you hear her as she gets closer, pushing past anyone in her way. She has a tattoo, you note numbly, of a spider on her collarbone. Huh. “I haven’t seen you since the concert!”

“Vriska!” you shout back, hoping your voice doesn’t crack. Her eyes are the same blue as her text messages. “It’s been awhile, huh?”

* * *

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you hate both dancing, and being around other people dancing. There’s no hope of finding your friends in the crowd, but that doesn’t seem to sway Dave from insisting the two of you look. You don’t know why he thinks you’ll find them right in the middle of the entire fucking mosh pit, but you’re getting pretty tired of slipping through sweaty bodies. 

“Can we finally admit I’m right?” you eventually snarl over the music, clinging to Dave’s arm. He’s barely even looking, that asshole, how’s he going to know if you do find them?

“Hm. You're right,” he surprises you, turning abruptly so you’re pressed against his chest again. You get a grip on his shoulders, glaring into his shades. You did not just get weak knees. You didn’t. 

“Then what the dick-munching fuck are we-?”

“We can’t get out now, too many people. I guess we’ll just have to dance,” Dave cuts across loudly, and his smirk treads alarmingly close to an actual, smug grin. 

“What. No, you asshole, get me out-!” you start to demand, because you don’t dance, let alone grind, against anyone. Dave’s grip is relentless to your half-hearted shoves, and he simply pulls your shoulders closer, so his breath dances over your earlobe. 

“Stay with me.”

You’ve never felt yourself melt so easily. You decide it’s the alcohol. And maybe a little bit is because Dave has started swaying, and ok, that kind of feels nice. 

His hands wrap around your lower back, inching up under your shirt. You tense for a moment, then let your body start moving in time with his. This is easier than other types of dancing, you soon realize, and Dave more or less guides both of you to the music. His fingers dig into your hips, and your foreheads rest together, and the rest of the club disappears into a background of chaos and movement. Your own arms are looped tightly around Dave’s neck, leaving little to no space between your bodies. You can’t hear much around the base echoing against the floor, but you can hear Dave’s pants in your ear, and your eyes slip shut. 

“See, dancing is fun.”

“Shut-up,” you mutter, but there’s no real bite behind your words. 

Did you even have a good reason to hate dancing before? You’re so close, you’re almost breathing him in. His hands flash up and down your back, sending a stream of shivers down your spine as you pulse closer together. This is borderline obscene, your mind points out, but no-one dancing around you cares anyways. This feels more intimate, more private, pressed carefully into your own small space.

God, you’re intoxicated. 

You lose track of how long you stay there, wrapped up in each other. You take turns nibbling marks into the other’s neck, or dragging nails across shoulders and spines. You’re alive and immersed in the moment, and your lips taste like Dave, and his hands feel phenomenal on your skin.

It ends sooner than you'd like it to. 

“I think Terezi is heading over,” Dave’s voice is husky against your ear, and you let out a small groan. You don’t want to pull away, and you don’t like losing the warmth on your back as Dave’s hands fall. You can feel the loss of contact like a weight, as though you breathed concrete into your lungs instead of air.

“How does she move through the crowd so easily?” Dave wonders aloud, and you let out another groan.

“She literally just tells everyone she’s blind so they get out of the way.”

“Objection! I tell them I’m blind so they don’t get angry when I shove them,” Terezi snickers loudly, finally pushing her way up into your space. You know it’s childish, but you kind of want to push her back out. ~~This is yours and Dave’s space goddammit.~~

“What do you want?” you ask, aware that your voice more or less conveys how annoyed you are. Terezi doesn’t seem bothered at all, and you swear you see an amused glint behind her glasses. 

“We’re going home now, Karkles. I’m guessing you’re gonna stay with strawberry shortcake?” her eyebrows wriggle, and you’re pretty sure Dave grimaces a little at the name. You’re torn between further annoyance and laughing. 

Dave responds before you can. “I was just thinking I haven’t seen Kit-kat’s house yet, and that’s a little unfair, as I so graciously accepted him into mine."

Your face burns, and you can practically taste the smug grins they both have. Those assholes. They’re probably over the fucking moon because they both call you different nick-names. "Graciously?" you growl, too quiet over the music. "By getting kidnapped and watching you almost kill your only family member?"

“Hold on, where’s John?” Dave adds as a sort of after-thought, confirming he didn't hear your comment. Oh, that's right. You try not to let your heart sink. He was supposed to be entertaining his friend tonight, not making out with you in a sleazy club. You feel sort of bad, but not bad enough to regret having them come down here. How the hell did they know you were here, anyways?

“Nepeta said he was dancing,” Terezi shrugs. “I’ll show you where they were.”

Dave lightly grabs her shoulder. “Terezi, you came from that way.”

“I knew that! Smells get confusing in a crowd, ok?”

The three of you maneuver through the people once more, occasionally getting shoved or bumped by other dancers. You’ve never been a big fan of crowds, especially not dancing ones. If Dave wasn’t there to distract you, you imagine your chest would be constricting. Well, it sort of is, but for completely different reasons. As it stands, you just spit obscenities if anyone gets too close, and let Dave push through the throngs of bodies.

Eventually you can make out Nepeta, and it looks like she’s dancing with Feferi. Not far from them is Aradia, tugging Eridan into a few goofy turns, and Sollux watching with more than a little annoyance on his face. You hope this means everyone’s sorted their emotional crap out.

“Holy shit, John actually found a girl,” Dave's deadpan cuts across your thoughts, and you look back to him, following his gaze a little deeper into the crowd. Sure enough, there’s John’s unmistakable blue shirt. Someone is writhing around with him, and you almost want to look away (did you and Dave look like that?). That is, until you catch a glimpse of her face, and then you nearly choke on your own tongue. 

“He’s with Vriska?” 

“You know her?” Dave glances at you, but then John must have seen the two of you, because he’s heading over with Vriska in tow. Her grin is a little too predatory to be innocent. 

“Dave! Dave, this is that girl I told you about!” John shouts over the music, cheeks red. He’s got sweat sticking to his brow, and something that looks suspiciously like a bite on his neck. “What are the chances!”

“I would guess pretty slim."

“Wait, told you about?” you ask loudly, and Vriska’s grin only widens as her eyes turn to you.

“Guess you aren’t the only one picking up celebrities, Vantas.”

John laughs good-naturedly, but your scowl only deepens. What the hell, when did she meet him? Is that why she’s been ignoring all of you more than normal? When did you life turn into a fucking sitcom? 

“Um, actually, if you don’t mind,” John’s blush deepens a little, and you notice Vriska’s hand wrapping around his waist, “I’m just going to hang out with her for the rest of the, er, night.”

Dave looks a little like he’s trying not to laugh, and you catch a glimpse of crimson from behind his shades when he looks over at you. “Nah, bro, cool with me. Do you have a ride then?”

“We’ll call a cab! Erm, I mean, not that we’re sharing a cab, necessarily…”

“John, your mouth can do better things,” Vriska clearly doesn’t care what you or Dave think, and John’s already red face deepens into tomato territory. You make a valiant effort not to flinch, but you’re pretty sure your entire face twists into a grimace.

“Right! Haha, uh, I’ll see you later, dude!” John waves goodbye to Dave, but he’s pretty focused on Vriska's waist as she drags him back into the crowd. You’re reminded of a black widow, dragging it’s prey into a nest. 

“I’ll get Bro to make sure he gets home,” Dave snickers, and you roll your eyes, still disgusted. 

“I can’t believe her,” you mutter, but you don’t dwell too long on your discomfort, because Dave steps back in front of you. A genuine grin is spreading across his face, and you feel your eyebrows rise up, because you don’t get to see him do that a lot. 

“You know what that means, Kat-nip?”

“That’s the worst nick-name you've used yet.”

“That I’m very free for the rest of tonight,” Dave ignores your comment, sidling closer, and your breath hitches. Oh. _Oh._

“Oh.” You get out, intelligently. His eyebrows slowly arch over his shades, and you push his chest lightly, trying to get that shit-eating grin off his face. “Um, you wanna come over then?”

“Thought you’d never ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut, anyone?  
>  ~~why do i keep doing this, now im gonna have to write a legit sex scene~~
> 
> Anyways thanks so much again to everyone for reading!! I know updates have been slow, but I'm still working away, no worries. I guess my original idea to mostly update on Sundays is working out, yeah?? Thanks all for the comments and kudos <33


	13. want to try something?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you wish you knew Dave Strider would be coming back to your house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haaaad to get this up for Valentines gosh. Fair warning, this chapter is basically just smut. Try to enjoy??   
> ~~i should read this through once more but i just want it out goodness gravy~~

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you wish you knew Dave Strider would be coming back to your house.

Then you might have, you know, cleaned the fuck up. As distracting as having him attached to your face is, you're still painfully aware of the blanket strewn across your hallway corridor, and the leftover ice-cream buckets in the living room. The Titanic DVD selection screen is still playing, with the same 30 second sound clip of _My Heart Will Go On_ echoing in the background as Dave pushes you up against another wall. He seems to enjoy pinning you places - not that you're complaining.

Dave's hands grab eagerly at your shirt, trying to wrestle it up and off you. This turns out to be an issue, because his mouth doesn't leave yours, dragging back and forth across your lips with an almost violent passion. You awkwardly wrangle one arm up, noses banging. Dave chuckles against your mouth as he tugs it upwards, and you manage to get the piece of clothing around your neck. You shiver, partly from the cold and partly from the hands smoothing over your stomach. Your stupid shirt is still hanging around your neck, but Dave seems to think exploring your mouth is a more pressing issue, as his tongue swipes across your teeth. 

You're trying not to make too much noise, you really are, but sounds are wriggling up your throat with an alarming intensity. You decide to turn your attention to Dave's shirt now, tugging helplessly at the fabric. God damn it, it won't come off, and Dave isn't helping at all. Ugh, stupid, piece of shit clothing, why do people bother wearing _anything_ , this is _ridiculous_ -

Dave finally pulls back with a snort, and shucks his shirt off in one easy movement. Your breath catches, eyes trailing down his chest. Literally the only thing better than Dave Strider is Dave Strider without clothes on. He's toned, and not necessarily muscular, but firm beneath your hands when you tug him back towards you. You're aware that he pulls the shirt off your neck at some point, but you're more focused on feeling every curve and mark on his chest. You imagine you can attest everything, like the slight indents leading into his v-line, or the lacework of scars along his pectorals, to those stupid fights he has with his Bro. 

When your thumb brushes over his nipple, you hear Dave suck in a breath, and your eyes flash up to his face. His mouth is parted slightly, and though you can't see his eyes - those fucking shades - you can feel his gaze on you, waiting for you to make a move. You smirk lightly, and delight in the bob you get from his throat as you lean down to lick a stripe up his chest. 

"Jesus," Dave mutters, and you alternate between nibbling and kissing, trailing just below his collar bone. He tastes a little salty, and if this was anyone else, you imagine you'd be disgusted by the thought of lapping up someone's sweat. But this isn't anyone else, and you're actually enjoying yourself, and you can't help your own moan as his hands grab at your ass. When you reach his nipple again, you pause, letting a small huff out, before carefully sucking the nub into your mouth. You feel Dave's breath waver beneath your hands, and lick a little more earnestly, noting the strained pants in your ear. 

Hm. You wonder what other buttons you can push.

You move on to his left one, hands wrapping around his back to run up and down the expanse of bumpy skin, just as marked by scars as his chest. You find a particular one just below his right shoulder that's a little jagged, almost shaped like a K. You immediately decide that this scar is yours. 

"Is that- mm, Titanic?"

You stop, pulling away abruptly with a scowl. Fucking hell. "Yeah?"

"You're really into shitty romance films."

"First of all, the Titanic is one of the finer points of romantic history cinematography. Secondly, do you really want to talk about my taste in movies right now?" You growl out the latter part, leaning forward until you're hovering near his lips. He swallows again, and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. You almost shudder, wanting to lean into him, to feel every inch of his skin against your own until you can't tell what's yours and what's his. 

"Can I take these off?" you add, motioning towards his shades. The first time you'd done it, you'd wondered what the hell his problem was. You understood the whole cool kid act, and keeping press out of his personal life, but he'd literally stiffened when you asked. You realize now that maybe you should have backed off, but your curiosity got the best of you, and you hadn't been able to help yourself reaching for his shades. You expected him to stop you, waited for a hand to shove yours away - and then he had let you slip them off, and everything was a lot clearer. 

You'd told him you love his eyes. You do. You really want to see them again. 

Dave nods slowly, and you reach up just as carefully as the first time, in case he changes his mind. He doesn't. You carefully fold them up and stick them on the side-table of your living room. You allow yourself time to move your own eyes back to him, aware of the sudden flash of red knocking your breath from your chest. Dave is blinking in the light, squinting, with his mouth turned into the smallest of frowns. You literally feel your fingers twitch, wanting to feel the curves of his face, the ones he hides so well from everyone. His expression is so open and unsure, and you know he's not good at hiding the feelings dancing around his eyes because he never has to. 

He's so god-damn beautiful. 

"You gonna keep starin'?" he eventually asks, and _oh god_ , there's his drawl. With a short whimper you fly back into him, cupping his jaw and smashing your lips together. Dave exhales against your cheek and responds enthusiastically, hands grasping fists in your hair as the two of you stumble towards the hallway. Your apartment is cramped, and you each bang an elbow or two on the way to your bedroom. When you get there, you blindly fling open your door and tumble through. You would have gone straight to the floor if Dave wasn't gripping your back, hauling you back to his mouth, moaning into your lips.

Eventually he pulls back long enough to shuck off his pants, and you quickly follow suit, struggling a little in your haste. He sniggers, and helps you tug of your left pant leg. Then he's pushing you back towards the bed. 

You barely feel yourself hit the mattress before Dave's entire body is pressed into you. Your hips jut upwards at the sudden contact, and you're twice as aware of the strain in your boxers as you were before. Dave mumbles a curse into your neck and rolls his body down to meet yours, dragging his own hard-on against your thigh. A voice in the back of your head chastises you for rutting against him like a rabbit, but you can't help it when he moves again. Your boxers suddenly fall into the category of too much clothing, and you drag your nails against Dave's back, sliding your dick against his. The friction from the fabric isn't enough, and it's too much at once, and you can practically feel the blood pounding through your ears. 

"Can we fuckin- get these off?" Dave eventually pants, pulling off your neck. His eyes are blown wide, the red almost swallowed in the black of his pupils, and your breath catches again. You barely nod before he's moving his hands down to your hips, dragging your boxers down your legs. It's a relief to be released, and you throw a hand across your face, breathing heavy. Dave doesn't move back up towards you, and you peek through your eyelashes to watch him. He's staring at your cock, throat bobbing again. You feel heat rise to your face, but you don't have a lot of time to feel self-concious before he's leaning towards you, lips dragging up the underside of your member. 

You moan loudly, making an effort not to push towards him. The slow kisses are torture. You've never felt so alive in your life, every breath rasping out your lungs like your first or your last, you can't tell anymore. Every touch sends a thrill through your body, and you're so sensitive you swear he's made of electricity.

"Dave, please, more, I can't..." you trail off, eyes rolling back. You can feel his laugh against you, and then his tongue joins his lips and you're left writhing above him. It's so good, and not enough, and jesus christ you need more of him, _right now_.

When he pulls away, you can't decide if you're relieved or frustrated. You stare down at him, eyes fluttering, as he licks his lips. It almost sends another whimper from your throat. 

"Want to try something?" Dave finally asks, raising an eyebrow. His hands are resting on your thighs, and you're incredibly aware of the heat between your legs, and the pads of skin against your own. You know what he's asking, and you're not completely sure you're ready. It's not like you've never had sex with another guy before, but you considered it a big step, and the thought makes butterflies swarm your head. Then again, this is Dave, and you've never wanted someone to touch you so badly. 

"If you mean you want to fuck me into my own mattress, for the love of god, hurry the hell up," you finally get out, and you're aware that it's the least romantic way of putting it, but you don't give two shits. You made your decision. You need him, now, _closer_ , against you. 

Dave makes a sort of choking noise, and then his lips are wrapped around the head of your dick again. He hollows his cheeks and flattens his tongue, moving carefully up and down in an unbearable cocoon of heat. You almost have to push him away, because you're going to cum before he can do anything, but then he pulls off with a ragged breath. "Where's your-?"

"Where the hell do you think? Top drawer, like in literally any movie." 

Dave moves incredibly fast to your dresser, and you miss the heat against your legs. A shiver runs down your back as he grabs the lube and a condom. "Did you just compare our sex to a movie?"

"Maybe."

"You're so fuckin'..." he trails off, staring at you for a moment, eyes hooded. That looks really close to affection, you realize, and your entire stomach tenses, flipping uselessly amongst the other onslaught of emotion thrumming through you. You don't know what to do with genuine care. A flush trails down your body, and you have to resist the urge to slip under the blankets and hide from the world. 

"Can you hurry the fuck up," you eventually mumble, unable to take his staring any longer. Dave snaps back into motion, blinking. He makes his way back to the bed at a more leisurely pace, before settling carefully on top of you again. He presses his lips gingerly to yours, kissing you with something you might consider tenderness if his hips weren't still gyrating against your thigh. You curl up into him, desperate for more. 

Finally Dave breaks off, and with one last peck against your chin, moves back down between your legs. He snatches one of your pillows on the way, demanding you, "Lift your ass up," so he can stick it under your lower back. Your knees are trembling lightly, and you have to fist your hands into your blankets to keep them from twitching. You've only ever had someone fuck you once, and it wasn't the most enjoyable experience. You're pretty sure the asshole was more interested in getting himself off than you, and while he didn't entirely hurt you, you weren't able to walk properly for a few days. 

"Karkat, you sure this is ok?" Dave's voice surprises you, and you guess you must have closed your eyes, because they fly open at his voice. 

"Yes."

"You look tense."

"I'm fine."

"Seriously, we don't have to do this. I'm cool with giving blowjobs. Love the D in my mouth, deepthroating and shit, totally cool-"

"Holy fuck, shut your food chute and hurry up. I trust you, ok?" You snap, feeling a blush dart across your cheeks. You meet Dave's eyes, and try not to shudder at the look he's giving you, like he can't believe you exist. It's enough to send your head spinning, and your heart beats faster, pounding against your ribs like it might break through your chest. You've never had someone look at you like that before.

Slowly, he bends down to trail more kissing along your stomach, one hand moving up to wrap lightly around your cock. You let out another breath, eyes closing again as he rubs another hand against your thigh, massaging gently. When he pulls away, you hear him squeezing lube on to his fingers. Your breath hitches again, and your hips tense against your will, as though your body remembers exactly what happened last time. Dave must notice, because he goes back to kissing you, leaving nibbles and pecks down your left thigh. His mouth migrates back to your boner, and you mumble out a few curses.

He takes this as a sign to start, and something cold presses against your entrance. You shiver a little, tensing again for a moment, before reminding yourself that this is Dave. You know it will feel good in a bit, and you know he'll feel good, and you want him closer. He slowly pushes one digit into you, and you bite your lip, focusing on relaxing. Dave's lips stay closed around your cock, and the distraction helps you relax as he moves inside you. You almost don't notice when he gets a second finger in, because he's sucking lightly at your head, sliding his tongue against your slit. A steady stream of moans float from your mouth, but they turn into a yelp when his fingers brush against your prostate. _Oh, yeah, this is when it feels good_. You let out a moan, grinding your hips down on his fingers, trying to get them to reach that spot again.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful, Karkat," Dave's voice is low and husky, and you groan in response as he slips a third finger inside you. He pumps into you faster, brushing your prostate again and again until you can't take it any more.

"If you don't hurry up, I'm going to-" you break off, shuddering, as another wave of fire rolls through your chest. You feel his fingers leave, and try not to wiggle your hips at the sudden emptiness. Finally, you open your eyes to search for Dave. He's rolling the condom on, and carefully slathering more lube on himself, groaning lightly. He meets your eyes as he lines up with your entrance, face flushed, and lips swollen from kissing you. You know he's waiting for permission, and his arms are shaking on either side of your hips. You can't speak, and you can't breathe, so you nod once, and that's enough for him.

Dave eases himself carefully inside you, and you have to throw back your head and bite your lip. It doesn't hurt, but it's a lot, and you can feel your breaths gasping lightly. Dave leans down over you, bringing his mouth to your neck, and you don't know if he's trying to distract you or himself. He holds very still, but you can still feel his muscles trembling around you, and the abrupt realization that he's inside you knocks your breath away. It's too much, and not enough, and you need him to do something, _now_.

"Start- Dave, start moving, please. Now."

He pulls out slowly, mouth still at your throat, then thrusts lightly back into you. You can feel yourself stretching, and adjusting, and soon you're moaning his name again, muttering at him to go faster. Your blood might as well be molten lava, slugging dangerously hot through your body. This feels incredible, you decide, moving your own hips against him. Dave takes this as a sign to move more freely, and he almost completely pulls free before he's thrusting into you again. He starts angling just slightly, and then he's hitting your prostate and it's _so fucking good_. You know you're speaking and mumbling but you're not making sense, you're just babbling incoherently against the stream of pleasure radiating up your body.

"You feel so good, Karkat," Dave whispers breathy encouragements in your ear, and you can feel your orgasm building. You won't last much longer, and you try to tell Dave, but he shuts you up with his own mouth. Finally, his hand wraps around your cock, and that's all it takes for you to scream his name, light bursting into stars behind your eyelids. Dave's rocking becomes more hurried, and soon you feel him tense too, groaning deeply into your chest.

By the time you're both finished, you're still trembling, wrapped impossibly close to the other. For a minute, neither of you move, breathing quietly into the silent room. You feel a little dizzy, and short of breath. You don't think your mind is one hundred percent sure what just happened; it keeps drifting away from you, leaving your body feeling heavy and foreign, but also warm and sated. Eventually Dave pulls out, standing up to presumably dispose of the condom. You're sort of disgusted at the amount of your own cum covering your chest, but you're too tired to move, eyes drooping dangerously low.

You hear Dave moving around the bathroom, and the door when he comes back in. He starts cleaning you off with a slightly damp cloth, which surprises you for a moment, but feels nice after. You hum lightly in thanks, but can't quite open your mouth enough to form words. He doesn't say anything either, cleaning himself as well and switching off the light. You don't move the entire time, not until he's back beside you. He tugs you up closer to the headboard, and you follow without questions, pliant beneath his hands. You melt into his touches, and help him get the covers over both of you, until you're curled up into a tangle of limbs and skin.

This is wonderful.

You let out a small sigh, and you think Dave whispers something else in your ear, but you're already too far into sleep to register what it was. You sigh instead, tucking your head under his chin. You don't think you've ever fallen asleep feeling so absolute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I'm terrible at writing this stuff ~~but I hope it was ok~~
> 
> I know I say this every time but thanks _so much_ again to all of you! You're the lights of my life. My hearts and souls. The chocolate to my valentines day. You definitely keep inspiring me to write davekat  <3
> 
> ((Friendly reminder that if you want updates, or would like to ask me questions, you can check out [my tumblr](http://kissoftreachery.tumblr.com).))


	14. Are you finally asking me out on a date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider, and you are hot as _fuck_.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are hot as _fuck_. You don’t remember falling asleep in a volcano, but the heat waves rolling up and down your back indicates that you ended up in some sort of magma encased layer of earth’s oldest, most molten crust. Did a fire start up in the middle of the night? Is the sun finally exploding? Have you transported into the depths of Gordon Ramsey’s stove of hell? Seriously, you’re dying here. 

Your first instinct is to simply kick the blankets off. When you’re at home, you sleep with maybe a quarter of your own quilt, and nine times out of ten end up the wrong way on the bed, feet dangling off into the cold recesses of your floor. You definitely don’t wrap yourself in three layers of blankets, or have the inescapable claws of Karkat locked around your middle. You can feel his breath on your shoulder, and his knees are pressed against your ass, and he definitely made you the little spoon that fucker. 

You do manage to slowly turn over, wiggling your arms out of the cocoon you’ve found yourself in. Karkat barely moves, grip only tightening as his knees find purchase on your stomach instead. He’s not sweating at all, you note, and if he didn’t look so fucking precious you might shake him awake. Sleeping Karkat is probably your second favourite Karkat, you decide, grinning despite yourself. His mouth is hanging open a little, and you swear there’s a bead of spit trailing down his lip. His face is more relaxed than you usually see it, no frowns or scrunched noses. His cheeks are round, but not puffed out in anger, and you could probably trace his cheekbones.

There are still circles around his eyes, you note, half a tone deeper than his natural skin colour. You guess the mix of balancing classes and- well, _you_ , isn’t easy. You hunch your face a little closer, looking for marks and scars and anything else, finding only a small one over his left eyebrow. 

“Dave, if this is how you plan on waking me up every morning, I’m going to wear a fucking mask to bed.”

You actually jolt (you never jump what the fuck was that), and your eyes dart down to Karkat’s, which are now open. Ah, there’s that little scowl you’ve grown fond of. You think you like huffy Karkat almost as much as sleepy Karkat. You really can’t help your smile anymore, it just springs up around him.

“G’mornin’ to you too, Kit-kat.” Ugh, fuck, not your accent again. What are you even worried about?

Oh. _Oh_. Yeah, haha. Oops. 

The thing. 

The elephant in the room. 

The thing you didn’t think was a thing until it just kind of happened. You're not even sure if Karkat heard you.

“Why are you so close to my face?”

_Because I love you._ “You have a spot of- nope, look, just got it. All clear Karkitten. Don’t want you looking too ruffled. I mean, your hair is past saving, but...“

Probably not, right? He was too tired. He would be acting weird, wouldn't he? Are you acting weird? 

You need to chill.

“You’re such an idiot,” Karkat groans, successfully diverting your attention as he burrows his head back into your chest. Wow, it’s just getting hotter in here. You’re not blushing or anything, cause Strider’s don’t blush, but woo. How does he even exist like this, seriously. 

“Do you always sleep like a baby dragon?”

“What?”

“It’s like, one-hundred degrees bro. I can feel my skin melting off. How many blankets do you even have.”

Karkat blinks a few times, looking a little closer at you. “You’re literally sweating,” he says, and his lip twitches up towards a snicker. 

“Yes, I was aware. Very aware. So aware that I plotted to tell you immediately when you woke up that I’m hot. The polite thing now would be to take these fucking blankets off,” you deadpan, but you think the affect is a little different without your shades, because Karkat’s grin just grows. 

“I thought you were always cool, Dave.”

_Shit, no, stop blushing, you look like an idiot._ “I am cool. Cool as ice. The north pole practically lives up my ass that’s how chill I am. You could save the polar bears on my body.”

“So the blankets can stay?” He challenges, eyes narrowing, and god damn it you can’t decide if you want to shake him or just make out some more.

You can feel your face morph into something akin to desperation, and Karkat actually laughs this time, shucking two of the three layers down until only a sheet is covering the two of you. You sigh in relief, kicking even those off your legs, and let the blessed, cold air wash over your body. 

Karkat’s hands wind up towards your chest, dragging you down towards him once they reach your face. He’s warm and gentle, and you let your own arm wind around his back, pulling him closer. You’re sure you have morning breath, but he doesn’t seem to care, lips lazily meeting your own. It’s more of a caress than a demand, and you can feel your eyes closing, because you’ve never wanted to get so lost in another human. 

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

The second the word tumbled out of your mouth, you knew it was true. It spread through you like a current, and you’re never been so certain in your entire life, because you’ve gotten it wrong so many times. It’s so fast, and stupid, and you _know_ you haven’t known him long enough, but the thought of losing Karkat makes your chest crumble. He’s like a new song you want to compose, but you can’t find the right beats, so you stick around to keep listening. It’s too much, and it’s too soon, and you feel your body curling closer into his. Your lips move more urgently, as though you can convey how essential he is in a movement. 

A week ago you told him you weren’t sure where the two of you were going to go. Now you don’t want wherever you’re going to be without him. What the hell are you thinking? The answer is, you’re not, because he’s still pressed against you.

Karkat eventually breaks away, panting lightly, though there’s a trace of a smile on his face. You both do that, you realize - hide your happiness, and throw up walls to trick people into thinking that if you’re never happy, they can never take it away. When his barriers crack like this, though, and you draw out a laugh or a smile, or even a rare look of wonder, you can feel a warm light in your stomach.

“So, uh. Breakfast?” Karkat offers, and you nod your head in agreement, not even trying to hide your smile anymore. You both shuffle out of bed, and root around for your boxers on the floor (not without a, “Nice view, Vantas,” from you, and a blushing, puffed-up Karkat shoving a pair of black sweat pants on, too). 

You gotta take a piss before doing anything else, though, and Karkat almost looks relieved when you head for his small en-suite. You don’t bother turning on the light, 'cause you learned last night that Karkat has the lightbulbs of hell. You almost went blind the first time, you don’t need a repeat. 

When you’ve flushed and washed your hands, you blink at your own reflection in the mirror. Seeing yourself without shades still comes as a bit of a shock. There are traceable lines under your eyes, and curves where your cheekbones dip into your cheeks. The white spattering of your eyelashes flutter lightly above crimson, and you can’t help wondering how Karkat isn’t unnerved by you. 

Jesus, how does he enjoy this? You’re a huge asshole. You’re pushy, and sarcastic, and arrogant. You have a superiority complex, and you use jokes and walls to pretend you aren’t insecure. You more or less attached yourself to him, and didn’t stop long enough to really talk to him about what the two of you are, or where you want to go, or what it will mean with you being in a fuckin' band. 

You let out a sigh, eyes darting away from your reflection. The nerves in your stomach haven’t stopped writhing, and your brain lingers on last night. 

You’ve never wanted to stay with someone so bad. 

With a small sigh at yourself, you head out of the bathroom.

 

Karkat turns out to be a horrible cook. When you finally meander into the kitchen - grabbing your shades on the way, because fuck, the kitchen lights are bright too - he’s prying eggs out of a pan and dodging a spattering of grease from the bacon frying on the stove. You watch him struggle for a moment, swearing under his breath, and try your best to keep another grin off your face. 

For fuck’s sakes, he shouldn’t be that cute. 

“Need help, babe?” you ask, wandering closer. Karkat’s head whips around, and he scowls.

“I’m doing fine, Strider,” he eventually replies, turning back to the mess of eggs. You come up behind him, trying not to grimace. They look cooked, but they’re in pieces. 

“Scrambled?”

“Um. They are now,” he sighs, and you chuckle lightly, leaning in to wrap your arms around his waist. Karkat tenses for a moment, but relaxes considerably quicker than he used to. “Sorry, this is a heaping pile of chicken feces.”

“Aw, you don’t have to impress me, sugarplum,” you purr in his ear, and this time you earn a hiss and an elbow to the stomach. You laugh, backing up and plopping down in to one of the kitchen chairs. Karkat manages to get an equal amount of egg bits on two plates, and a few strips of bacon. He brings them both over, the small scowl still on his face. 

“Enjoy your food, fuckface,” he growls, but he still manages to look a little embarrassed. Your heart flutters a little. 

Despite the less-than-impressive presentation, the breakfast is ok, and it goes down alright. You take the moment of silence to actually take a look around Karkat’s house. It’s just an apartment, but he keeps it relatively clean. The kitchen is bare, but neat, and its obvious he keeps the place in order. You can see through into the living room, where the TV is now silent - you guess he finally turned Titanic off when you were in the bathroom - but you can make out a few strewn blankets over the edge of the couch, and an empty ice-cream tub on the coffee table. 

Oh god, your boyfriend is a huge nerd, and it’s really cute. 

Your boyfriend. You turn back to Karkat, where he’s pushing around his eggs with his fork, blinking tiredly. He looks wiped, and the more you think about it, you’re hella tired too. There’s a small pulse at the back of your skull where a headache is starting, but you think the food will help. You honestly haven’t slept that well in awhile. A glance at the clock on Karkat’s stove confirms that it’s almost twelve-thirty, which is still a little early for your tastes, but at least you have more time to do stuff now. 

“So, are you staying for the day?” Karkat eventually asks, and your eyes dart over to his. You really did do a number on his hair, and there are marks dotting his neck and chest. A swell of warmth shivers up your body, but you suppress it, shifting in your chair. 

“Hell yes Kit-kat. A fuckin’ swat team couldn’t get me to leave.”

He actually blushes a bit, and another warm wave rears up in your chest. He shouldn’t affect you this much damn it.

“Good. You still owe me a date,” he sniffs, stabbing at his eggs.

“Of course. Wherever you want, babe.”

“Jesus, stop calling me babe, you sound like a douchebag,” Karkat groans, and your mouth flicks up. “It’s for the ‘irony' too, isn’t it? You’re such an asshole.” 

“Would you prefer honey cheeks? Sweetie pie? Love monkey?”

“How about my fucking _name_?”

“Mkay, Karkat.”

He stares at you for a moment, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth. “You’ll stop using pet names?”

“Not a fucking chance, my little pea pod.”

Karkat lets his fork drop, face dropping into another scowl, but his cheeks keep twitching upwards. “You’re a dumbass, you know that? An absolutely insufferable, sinkshitting dumbass.”

“And yet I’m here in your kitchen.”

“Yeah, because you’re a hot sinkshitting dumbass.”

“Won’t argue with you there. Look at this body.”

You aren’t expecting Karkat to take you up on your offer, and watch in surprise as his eyes begin trailing down your skin. You can feel yourself tensing, aware of the sudden scrutiny. You’ve never seen him move so slow, deliberately pausing on places you know he left bruises. Your heart flutters. When his eyes finally meet yours again, he licks his lips. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter, swallowing thickly. Karkat shouldn't be allowed to lick his lips. It should be illegal. Especially at the table. Your legs are carrying you over to him before you can think, and suddenly your lips are against his again, rough and needy. His hands grasp at your skin, and you end up straddling his lap against the chair, balancing yourself against his thighs. Your hands find purchase in his hair, and you feel just a little smug that it’s still knotted because of you. The moans and puffs you get around your kisses send more warmth through your body, and you want to get completely lost in Karkat. 

“Bed?” he gets out between gasps, and you almost fall out off his lap in your struggles to tug him up. Tired? Who said you were tired?

God, you love Karkat.

* * *

By the time it reaches three in the afternoon, you and Karkat are curled up in bed again, and haven’t moved since. You’re stretched diagonally across the mattress, and Karkat’s head is resting against your stomach, his hair occasionally tickling the skin there. You’ve been running your fingers through said hair for the past ten minutes, in a quiet attempt to calm the mop on his head. 

You’re exhausted in the most satisfying, satiated meaning of the word. It takes you a minute to find a word to describe exactly how you feel, because it’s something between _good_ , and _whole_ , and _calm_. How long has it been since you’ve actually been this chill? You’re good at hiding everything, but there’s been this pain in your back that you couldn’t get rid of, and a stiff cramping in your neck (honestly, how long have you been hunching over your laptop?). But right now, you actually feel content. Your eyes are heavy, but not with the mind-crushing weight of a brain that won’t shut the fuck up; you think you actually feel _peaceful_. 

“Kit-kat?”

“Mm.”

“I’m never leaving this bed. It’s too comfy.”

“Mmhm, fucking fine with me, if you keep doing that.”

Your fingers pause in his hair for a moment, and you have to shove a smile down, before working further at a small knot. “You’re such a cat.”

“I am _not_ a meow beast.”

“You’re going to have to show me Nepeta’s house some day, Bro.”

“God, if my friends had their way, you would be ass-deep in a plethora of their ridiculous, crabfucking text-messages.”

You snort lightly, though you’re a tad touched. You’re sort of fond of Karkat’s friends, even if a couple of them are crazy.

Jesus, are you in some sort of a sentimental state? Is that what sex with Karkat does to you? You’re eighty percent certain it’s not just getting laid that’s made you feel this fucking fantastic, but it’s easier to pretend that’s more prevalent than the shitstorm going on in your chest. God damn it, you didn’t sign up for emotions. You just met him, remember, Dave? Why doesn’t that change a flying fuck?

You’re in so deep. 

“Karkitten?”

“The fuck d’you want now?” his voice is muffled against the blanket he’s pulled around him.

“Rude. Just wanted to ask if you want to go out for dinner or whatever. Coffee if you’re not hungry, I don’t know.”

Karkat shifts, so he’s lying more on his stomach, chin resting almost directly over your belly button. He still looks incredibly tired, though his face is surprisingly lax.

“Are you finally asking me out on a date?”

“Maybe. Depends, how much do you like me?”

“Mm,” Karkat bends slightly, letting his lips press lightly to your skin. Your breath hitches, and he kisses a small line over your abdomen. “You’re a huge asshole, but I think I’m becoming fond of you.”

It takes a few moments to make sure your voice doesn't crack when you respond. “Then this is definitely a date proposal.”

“Ok.”

Your hand leaves Karkat’s hair to trail over his shoulder, tugging lightly until he takes the hint to shuffle upwards, and your lips meet in another lazy kiss. You aren’t tired of his mouth yet, not even close. Flares still run across your skin where his arms wind on to your chest, and soon you’ve pulled him completely on top of you, so your bare chests are pressed together and your hands can trace small patterns over his shoulder blades. 

“I’m going to have to borrow some of your clothes, though,” you add as he breaks away, and both of your eyes flicker to the pile of discarded jeans and shirts. 

“Does that mean I get to dress you however I want?” there’s a glint in Karkat’s eye that makes you a little apprehensive, but you don’t have much of a choice.

“Yeah, whatever. But if they don’t let me in because I’m naked that’s on your head.”

“Oh my god. No, I just have a thing I’d like to see on you. Not that I don’t like you like this.”

“I’m swooning, Kit-kat. Do what you must.”

He pauses, eyes softening a touch. “I am looking forward to an actual date though."

“Me too, Crabbycakes.”

Karkat only snickers this time, burrowing his head into your shoulder. He’s so fucking cute, and you’re so happy, and you just want to tug him closer because you haven’t had a moment like this in ages. He's warm against you, and soft beneath your fingers, and you can still catch a faint hint of cherry.

_I love you, Karkat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> daaaave. hon.
> 
> ( I was in such a mood for fluff you guys. I wanted cuddles when I was sick so this happened. ;-; )
> 
> Also I'm sorry this update took so god damn long!! I've missed all of you wow (and of course the fic). I've just been so tired and gross, and writing isn't as fun when you're curled up in a ball of misery.  
> On the bright side, I'm feeling better now, and can continue the davekat shenanigans. On the downside, this whole chapter was kind of a filler (hopefully a cute one, but I apologize nonetheless).
> 
> Thanks again to everyone reading, I love all of you precious little souls! I hope you've all been well.


	15. what were you expecting, gordon ramsey on a deserted island?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are currently texting your best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Quick trigger warning:** there are descriptions of anxiety in this chapter. If that makes you uncomfortable, but you'd like to know what happens, shoot me a message!

HEY. CAN YOU GET YOUR GANGLY ASS OVER TO MY APARTMENT?  
WITHIN THE IMMEDIATE FUTURE, PREFERABLY. WITHOUT STOPPING FOR MORE OF YOUR COWSHITTING BODY PAINT. JESUS, DON’T YOU HAVE ENOUGH WITHOUT STOPPING LITERALLY EVERY TIME YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE?  
JUST COME THE EVERLOVING HELL OVER SOON. ACTUALLY, NOW WOULD BE FUCKING FANTASTIC.

WhAt’S uP kArBrO? :o(

NOTHING. WHY DO YOU ALWAYS ASSUME SOMETHING’S WRONG WITH ME? MAYBE I JUST WANT TO SEE YOUR STUPID FACE AROUND HERE AGAIN. YOU HAVEN’T BEEN HOME IN AGES, AND I FINALLY GOT THE TAINT OF CLOWN WEED OUT OF OUR COUCH. IT’S ALMOST LIKE I HAVEN’T BEEN VICTIMIZED BY A PSYCHEDELIC BEANPOLE MY ENTIRE LIFE.

dId SoMeThInG mOtHeRfUcKiNg HaPpEn? YoU uSuAlLy LiKe YoUr SpAcE bRoThEr.

NO, I JUST SAID EVERYTHING IS FINE. I’M FINE. STOP ASKING. 

Ok I’lL cOmE. dOn’T sTaRt A fIrE kArBrO.

WHATFUCKINGEVER.  
AND THANKS.

* * *

_Three hours earlier._

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you’ve probably fantasized a little too much about Dave in this particular black sweater. God only knows what originally drove you to buy it - you’ve only ever worn it to bed, because even if it’s ugly as fuck, it’s still the comfiest piece of shit that’s ever touched your skin - but ever since you got invested in Grimdark, you’ve been associating it with Dave. 

It’s probably the ironic white-print cat drinking from a juice-box. That’s such a Dave thing. Speaking of. 

“Where the fuck did you get this.” 

“I don’t know, it was a few years ago. Some bizarre hipster breeding pit Eridan dragged me to.”

“Where the fuck do I get one.”

You can’t actually see Dave’s expression with his shades on, but there’s a sort of quiver to his voice that you are willing to associate with excitement. He’s still looking at himself in your door-length closet mirror, slouched slightly, hands slipped into the pockets of your own grey jeans (he already dropped the, “Guess I got in your pants” line).

“Well congratulations, you’re the prize winner of a crimplefucking, piece-of-trash sweater.”

“Are you serious?” Dave’s head inclines slightly, to presumably meet your eyes through the mirror. You roll your own, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don’t wear it. And it literally looks like someone summoned mephistopheles with the sole intention of capturing your essence in the most ironically disappointing clothing article under the light of the sun. You might as well keep-“

You’re stopped by two arms squishing your abdomen, and end up spluttering out the rest of your breath as Dave mutters, “Thanks,” next to your ear. You can feel a faint heat rise to your cheeks, but determinedly push it down, along with the stupid jitters in your stomach. Jesus christ, what a huge motherfucking sap, how dare he be cute, ugh. Your heart melts a tiny bit.

“Ok, are you ready to swoon,” Dave asks as he finally pulls back, pushing his shades back into place, “Because you are about to go on a date with the legendary Dave Strider. Buckle your seatbelt, we’re gonna be flyin’ - find us up in the air, gravity defyin’. I’m not lyin’, catch what I’m implyin’, what shit do you wanna find deep fryin’?”

Why do you like him again? He’s such a dork, jesus. Your chest does another flop, even though your mouth turns down into a scowl. “Did you just ask me what I wanted to eat in a fucking rap?”

“Yep. It was cute. Come on Karkitten, let me show you the world.”

You let Dave grab your hand and drag you out of the house, groaning to cover the grin you can’t quite fight off. Aladdin definitely isn't your weakness.

 

You were kind of expecting Dave to take you to Taco Bell or something, because he didn’t mention anything about dressing nice, and he's Dave. You’re only in a pair of jeans and a red sweater, so when you pull up to _Paradis Du Chef_ , you assume it’s a joke. You should honestly start expecting shit like this from him.

“You’re parking.”

“Yeah, that’s what lots like this are for. Its where normal people keep their cars while they eat. I realize you grew up as a commoner, Kitkat, but-“

“No, you asshole, we can’t go in here like _this_!”

Dave shifts into park, and switches off the engine. He turns to look at you - you’ve never wanted to break eyewear before meeting him - and his lips twitch up. “I already made reservations.”

You stare at him for a moment, frown deepening. “When the hell did you find time to reserve seats at the most pretentious restaurant in the city?”

“I got Kanaya to.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Are you really going to make me cancel our reservations now? That’s pretty rude.”

“Oh my god. Everyone is going to stare at us.”

“I’m Dave Strider, everyone was already going to stare at us.”

You pause, remembering suddenly that he’s an actual celebrity. Oh, shit. Yeah. This was definitely a step towards an actual _thing_. No, not a step, this was a fucking leap, off a bridge. This would be actual, in public date shit. You’d be seen together, eating fancy dinner, both looking equally as douchey, maybe even couple-y? Oh god. Did Dave even think this through? You’d never talked together about being a thing in the public-eye before. God, you've only known each-other like, a few weeks? Why the hell haven’t you talked about it? Are you honestly going out already?

Dave must register the brief panic on your face, because his mouth flips back down, and he reaches out to grab your shoulder lightly. You almost flinch. “Hey. Karkat. You still with me?”

“Are we. I mean, we’ll be seen in... This is a public restaurant.”

“Uh, yeah? What were you expecting, Gordon Ramsey on a deserted island, with a roasted pig on a- Oh. Shit, we never had this talk.”

Your eyes dart over to him, and you clench your hands into the fabric of his front seat. God, you know it’s not that big of a deal, but your heart is pounding. The truth is, you _know_ you won’t be comfortable in the public eye. You don’t like having people notice you, or being stared at, or having to worry about being followed. You’re not sure if you can handle it, especially if the two of you don't end up working. The media makes such a big deal out of everything, and blows things out of proportion, and you’re still going to college for fuck’s sakes. Your chest tightens a little more. 

“Um. Right. Ok, first of all, I am a huge jackass for trying to take you out somewhere without actually talking about it first,” Dave starts, and you kind of want to cut him off, but your lips are tingling and you can’t make them move. “You don’t have to feel pressured to go here or whatever, I’m not going to drag you into the paparazzi like a fuckin’ piñata for them to beat out. I like having Kar-kandy but I don’t want other people to eat you alive, you know? I- fuck, that was a weird thing to say. I mean, I don’t know where you stand with everythin' and it’s not like you have to be out with me just to prove you’re cool or whatever, ‘cause nothin’ you do is going’ to change anythin', and. Uh.”

Screw not talking, he needs to stop. “Dave, please shut your fucking mouth.”

You don’t think you’ll get used to seeing him flustered, no matter how hard your own heart is pounding. His fingers are beating out some pattern on his (your) pants, and his voice has dipped down into that Texan accent again. Damn him, he’s such an idiot. You want to strangle his stupid neck, and also kiss him a million times, and maybe kick his ass once or twice. Your hands are still shaking lightly, but you just clench them a little tighter into the seat.

“Just… Give me a minute,” you eventually add, looking pointedly out the car window. You’re sort of expecting Dave to start stuttering out some other kind of apology or persuasion, but he remains relatively quiet. You watch the cars driving in and out of the parking lot, letting your vision gloss over for a moment. You have to walk yourself through a few breathing exercises, taking a gulp of air in for four seconds, holding for seven, then releasing quietly for another eight. After repeating this three times in succession, you can feel your heart slowing. You can also hear Dave muttering, and at first you think he’s trying to get your attention, but then you realize it’s a rap. 

How is he that fucking adorable? What a dickbag.

“Ok,” your mouth is still a little dry, but this is stupid. You _want_ to have dinner with Dave, and listen to more of his apeshit rants, and actually learn more about the asshole under the shades. He obviously made an effort to take you somewhere you'd like. You can deal with everything else, god fucking damn it. "Let’s go in.”

Dave clears his throat, immediately cutting off his under-the-breath rap-stream. His fingers are still beating incessantly against his leg, in movements a little too complicated to be mindless. “You sure? We can just pick up burger king. Go back to your place and watch one of your shitty movies.”

“Yes. I want to go in.”

“You don’t care if we’re recognized?”

“No."

“You’re fine being seen in the fanciest restaurant around?”

“Fuck no, not when I’m dressed like this. But I’ll do it because we’re going to be late for your reservations, and I’m not a rude shitwipe like you."

“Kit-kat,” Dave actually reaches up to slide his shades down, and your eyes meet over the rims. His eyebrows are narrowed just enough to set a thin line between them. “You sure?”

You take in another breath. “Yes.”

Dave nods once, and is already turning to hop out of the car when he replies with an, “Okay.” You catch a glimpse of the stupid smile edging up his face, and you think that’s probably worth whatever the hell is about to happen.

* * *

WHAT’S TAKING SO LONG? YOU DID STOP FOR PAINT, DIDN’T YOU. YOU HAVE NO GOD DAMN RESTRAINT.

cHiLl KaRbRo. TaVbRo HaD sOmE sHiT hE hAd tO gEt At ThE sToRe. YoU sAiD yOu WeRe FiNe, So I dIdN’t ThInK yOu’D mInD. nEeD mE tO uP aNd MoVe AlOnG fAsTeR?

I AM FINE. I JUST EXPECTED YOU HERE ALREADY.  
BUT NO, TAKE YOUR TIME, I’LL TAKE THE TEA OFF THE STOVE. WE CAN PUT OFF CRUMPETS UNTIL NOON. WE CAN HAVE NINE-HIGH SHIT INSTEAD WHAT DO I CARE.

iT’s AlMoSt MiDnIgHt BrOtHeR.

WHATEVER. JUST HURRY UP A LITTLE.  
I DON'T NEED YOU HERE OR ANYTHING, I JUST THOUGHT YOU’D BE AROUND SOONER.

Ok BrO, dOn’T gEt ToO uPsEt, I wIlL hEaD oUt NoW. :o)

RIGHT. OK.  
SEE YOU SOON.

* * *

Everyone does stare at you in the restaurant. The waiter looks mildly disgusted when you walk in, but he’s quick to smile and show you your seats when Dave tells him what name the reservations are under. Your whole body is tense, and you can’t quite bring yourself to look at anyone else, but you manage to walk the whole way to the table with your arms crossed over your chest and an indifferent scowl plastered to your face. 

You can do this. It’s not that bad. 

Your seats are, thankfully, in the corner of the restaurant. It’s not precisely private, but at least there are a few well-placed glass walls around the booths that makes it feel more closed in. The waiter leaves you each a menu, and says something to Dave in what you think is French. Dave looks as lost as you, and the waiter ends up leaving with a few choice words muttered under his breath. 

“This isn't that bad,” Dave’s looking down at the menu, the tiniest twitch in his cheek giving away his amusement. Your scowl, which hasn’t dissipated since you walked in, deepens. 

“No, not at all. I definitely don’t feel like the newest freak at the circus.”

“You’re our main attraction, Kit-kat. The ring-leader loves you.”

“Tch, you’re not a ring-leader. You’re the obnoxious trapeze shithead that almost kills himself every show because he can’t help showing off.”

“Nah, I’m one-hundred percent calling the shots here. Dance for me, cymbal monkey.”

“What the fuck, I don’t look anything like those satanic furbies.”

“Oh, dude, why would you even say the F word? If we die tonight, I blame you. Those assholes are like voldemort, you say the word and suddenly there's gremlins everywhere,” you snort, but Dave doesn’t stop, adding, "There are three things in this world you never screw with; ouija boards, horses, and _fucking furbies_.”

You make a show of rolling your eyes, but you one-hundred percent agree that those things are evil. The two of you continue to banter easily across the table as you finally pick up your own menu. You can already feel your scowl softening. There’s a prickling at the back of your neck, where you’re sure several sets of eyes have rested, but at least now you’re thoroughly distracted. It’s hard not to be enticed by Dave’s stupid voice, or the occasional smile that quirks up the corners of his mouth. He tries so hard to seem indifferent and unimpressed, but it just makes you push harder, until his shell cracks a little more. You feel ridiculously impressed with yourself for poking out rare laughs, or getting a surprised snort. 

The rest of dinner seems to flow by, and the two of you float closer and closer to not giving a fuck. Soon you’ve forgotten about everyone else in the restaurant, because you’re too busy cackling at Dave’s stories (you can't believe Cronus delivers pizza). Honestly, you’re both being obnoxiously loud, and you probably would have been kicked out if it weren’t for Dave’s celebrity status. When dinner arrives, its fucking fantastic, and the two of you take turns trying to slurp up Dave’s spaghetti without your hands. You still have butterflies bouncing annoyingly around at the bottom of your stomach, but you think they’re more because you’re enjoying yourself so god-damn much. 

You really like Dave. This stupid, arrogant, ridiculous fucker, who literally swept you off your feet bridal style. Ugh, only you. You still have no idea what he likes about you, but you are so beyond the point of complaining. At least, you were getting over it. And then-

“Dave Strider! Oh my god, it is you!”

The two of you stop laughing abruptly, turning to face a young couple. The lady, probably in her mid-twenties, is grinning down at your table in a way that reminds you of Terezi. Oh, dear. Your face heats up a little, and you glance away. Ok, this is fine. Dave will give them an autograph or something and they’ll go away. They probably won't even talk to you. 

“Uh, yeah. Sup,” Dave eventually answers, and you notice how his voice dips back into it’s neutral state.

“Wow, it’s amazing running into you and your… Friend? Are you an associate of the band?”

So much for going unnoticed. You swallow, feeling your abdomen clenching. Right, it's just a question. It’s fine. You’re fine. 

“I’m not an associate. Just,” you almost choke, and have to take a small breath, glancing up at the lady’s face, "Grabbing dinner with my b- uh, Dave, my…” 

“Boyfriend. I’m his boyfriend,” Dave says, just as calm as before, and your breathing stops completely. Neither member of the couple tries to hide their shock, though the lady blinks after a moment, offering a small smile. Her date coughs a little, shifting away. You want to melt into the carpet. 

“Of course! Um, well. It was nice to meet you. Have a nice night,” she flicks a hand in goodbye, and the two hurry away. You’re reminded of the ‘still-not-breathing’ situation in your chest, and suck in a few half breaths. Jesus, calm down, calm down. It’s fine. You’re both fine. That was totally fine. 

“Karkat, are you ok?”

“Hm? Mhm,” you can’t really talk, but you nod your head affirmatively. You’re not going to throw up. No. Not in a fancy restaurant. Get a hold of yourself. Seriously, you are _fine_.

“Hey, come on. Deep breaths bro,” you didn’t see Dave get up - which is a fucking wonder, where are you even looking, the floor? Oh, yeah, you guess you are - but he’s right next to your chair, a hand gently holding your shoulder. You want to shrug him off, or tell him you're ok, but you still can’t open your throat. You focus on breathing instead. Yeah, breathing is easier. 

“Come on, let’s go back to your place. We’ll watch Titanic, and eat leftovers, and cuddle on the couch. We specifically mentioned make-out couch sessions and god forbid a Strider go back on his promise. That shit’s serious for us. We take an oath at birth. The first words I ever spoke were, ‘I pledge allegiance to the Strider Code of Honour’. True story, man, you’ll never see me tellin’ a lie. It's in my line of Strider duty to make sure we mack on your couch.”

His fucking rambling is actually helping. Wow, you want to punch him. With your mouth maybe. Idiot. “Yeah, ok. And I’m fine.”

Dave cocks his head enough that his eyes meet yours over his shades, and you feel a little more of your breath whoosh out. “Look, I know you don’t like to talk about this, but it’s cool. I would freak out too. I do freak out, I’ve just been in front of enough cameras to be desensitized or whatever. Uh, either way, everything’s chill. Movies sound better than this shit anyways.”

“Yeah, what were you thinking, dragging me to the most expensive restaurant around? You’re a total dickbag,” you manage a small smirk, and Dave’s mouth quirks up in response. Yep, you’re totally fine. Breathing still. God, you hate anxiety. You can’t help glancing around, wondering if anyone saw your momentary breakdown. 

“Right, next time the waiter passes, I’ll get the bill,” Dave squeezes your shoulder once, and bends to actually peck a kiss on your forehead. You let out a weird sound, automatically going to shove him, because _what the fuck, you're not a child_. He just chuckles and steps out of the way. 

“Asshole.”

“Nah, I’m cute.”

“You’re still an asshole.”

“But I’m _your_ asshole.”

You almost crack a smile, when the second interruption of the night comes - this time in the form of a disgruntled waiter, trying to hold back some people heading towards you. 

“Oh, shit,” Dave mutters, and you have to agree, because there are suddenly an alarming flurry of flashes being pointed at you. At least three people with large cameras are half-way up the restaurant aisle, gesturing towards you. Just like that, your anxiety is snarling back up your throat, and your entire body freezes. 

“Dave Strider, who’s that with you?”

“Is it true that you’re quitting Grimdark, Dave?”

“Who's your friend? Is this the beginning of a new collaboration?”

“Dave, one of our sources insists that you’re on a date! What can you say to that?”

You can feel your whole body turn numb, and your mind begin shutting everything out. Oh, god. You can’t deal with this. You don’t want these people looking at you, and you don’t want anyone to know about you, and you’ve never in your life wanted to be somewhere else so desperately. You feel a little light-headed, enough that you barely notice the paparazzi shoving closer, or the manager running out to tell them to leave. Dave gets back beside you somehow, and he whispers something in your ear, but you don’t hear it. Your brain is firing too many signals, telling you to run, or hide, or just curl up and never move again. It can’t seem to decide which one it wants, so you don’t move a muscle, everything in your body taut against the restaurant chair.

Dave eventually makes a decision for you. He pulls you up, and pushes you away from the reporters. You don’t stumble as he leads you back towards an exit, where another waiter is gesturing out the door to a taxi. You register the vibrations of them both talking, but you can’t process what they’re saying over the pounding of your heart. Your fingers are buzzing lightly, and you don’t remember if they work or not. 

“This guy is going to get you out of here. I’ll deal with this mess and come back to your apartment. I won’t be too long, ok? Ok, Karkat?”

You hear your name, and you nod, letting Dave push you lightly into the passenger seat of the taxi. You panic a little when he pulls away, closing the door, but you can’t make yourself move to stop him. Wait, where are you going again? The car is leaving. You still aren’t breathing properly. You think your mind is shutting down. 

There must have been a ride, but by the time the taxi driver is asking you to get out, you can’t remember any of it. You’re outside your apartment complex, and the driver doesn’t ask you to pay, so you leave without a word. You move, almost completely on autopilot, into the building. You decide to take the stairs, exerting some of your adrenaline into the task of climbing two flights. It’s only once you reach the door, and can’t get your key in the lock, that you realize you’re shaking. 

Reality slowly ebbs back to you, and you begin to process what happened. Your tremors only seem to get worse, and you have to focus again on breathing. You eventually give up on opening the door, turning to lean against it instead. For a minute you just listen to your own breaths darting in and out. You think you’re hyperventilating. 

Jesus, you’re having a panic attack. Fuck. Right, what were the steps again? Admit you’re having one? You slide down until you can draw your knees up to your face, and hold the key a little tighter. The ridges of the metal must be leaving indents in your palm, but you don’t really care. Your body is still shivering lightly, and you close your eyes, focusing on slowing your breaths down. _You aren’t dying. You’re going to be ok. You’re fucking fine, you need to calm down. Where’s Dave?_

He didn’t come with you. Right. He was going to sort everything out, whatever that means. What was he even going to tell everyone? Holy shit, you really wish he just came back with you. You don’t think you can get up right now, especially with your head spinning. You really fucked up this time. 

You cough out a few harsh breaths, and hug your knees a little tighter. You seriously can’t move. 

You don’t know how to fix anything, so you do what you always do when you need help - you whip out your phone to text Gamzee.

* * *

“Brother, what are you doing out here?”

He finds you outside the door still, clenched into the same tight ball as before. You’re not shaking anymore, but you still haven’t been able to get up, or unclench your hands. You feel a little sick. 

“It’s a long story,” you get out, and then the fucking tears come, and wow, do you hate yourself. This happens after nearly every panic attack - you finally find some sort of comfort, and the god-damn waterworks start. You physically can’t stop them, no matter how hard you blink. You shove your head angrily back into your knees, trying not to gasp.

Gamzee’s arms are around you before you can try to explain anything further, and he tugs you easily into a hug, muttering comforting things into your ear. You consider shoving him away for half a second, but cave instead, sticking your head into the sleeve of his leather jacket. 

“Deep breaths, Karbro. Come on, let’s go inside,” he doesn’t really let you go as he stands, pulling you slowly with him. You bite your lip, trying hard not to let any more tears fall, but you know they won’t stop now. You hate this, and you hate your anxiety, and you hate yourself. This is so stupid. Not to mention how sore your back is - how long were you sitting out here? 

Gamzee must have brought his key to the apartment, because he gets the door open and helps you hobble over to the couch. You both sink down, with one of his thin arms still wrapped around you. You curl up without protest.

“Remember that one time we invited Arasis over, and she brought Nepsis with her? And Nepsis almost had a motherfucking heart attack when she heard your name was Karkat. That was a good day, brother, just chilling and playing video games. Mario kart and shit. Hey, do you still kick major ass at that?” 

Once Gamzee starts his story, he doesn't stop talking, letting his voice drone quietly through the living room. Eventually, the noise helps you relax. You can feel your body steadily calming down, and all of your muscles unclenching. You still feel a little light-headed, but your heart slows down, and your breaths even out. Your eyes stop watering too, thank god, but you're left feeling drained and useless. 

Holy shit, you’re exhausted. 

“Gamzee. Fuck, I’m sorry,” you eventually croak out. He stops mid sentence, and you lift your head enough to meet his lazy grin.

“No problem, best friend. You feeling better now?”

You take in a deep breath, rubbing at your face quickly. God, you’re so embarrassing. “I’m- yeah, I’m ok. Thanks.”

“Want to tell me what motherfucking happened?”

“Um. Later, ok?”

“Alright, Karbro.”

You squeeze your eyes shut again, resting your head on Gamzee’s arm. Fuck, you’re _really tired_. You hate panic attacks. 

Gamzee pulls a blanket down from the top of the couch, and fluffs it around you. You would say something condescending and snappy, but you’re too tired to actually spit anything out. Gamzee smells like pastries and weed, but it’s familiar and comforting, and being around him makes you feel safe. You let out another breath, trying to relax further. 

Gamzee starts running a hand through your hair, and that’s all it really takes for you to give in and close your eyes. It's the fastest you've fallen asleep in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM T RASH. THAT TOOK FOREVER. I'm so sorry oh my god.  
>  ~~it's not even that happy either i'm. the worse. i am the worse.~~  
>  I'm definitely going to give this another look tomorrow as well, because I'm relatively sure there are some grammar issues.
> 
> ahh anyways, i hope the chapter was alright! i should get the next one up sooner than this one (seriously I'm so sorry wow). I hope you're all having a lovely Easter, and thanks again for reading!
> 
>  
> 
>  **Update:** Alright. I suck. Absolutely. Writing has been a little hard lately, so I haven't actually gotten around to getting another chapter put together. I was thinking of going on a short hiatus, to write all the remaining chapters in one go, and update everything within the span of a few days. Would anyone be into that?? I'll probably spit out one more chapter before that, and propose this idea there too (as I imagine a lot of people will miss this one). Sorry guys agghh. I have pledged my soul to finishing this fic tho, so I won't be ditching it. Just give me a lil time!!


	16. What do you mean I'm all over the web?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider, and fending off the press is a bitch.

Your name is Dave Strider, and fending off the press is a bitch. 

How do big celebrities deal with this shit all the time? You’re three seconds away from smashing something - preferably your own head - against the floor. You’re more than tempted to just tell everyone to screw off, but you don’t want to leave Kanaya with a huge mess to clean up later. No, you might as well wrap this up the best you can. At least you got Karkat the fuck out of dodge. 

“Look, I appreciate everyone’s concern for my personal life, but it’s really none of your business,” you state loudly, offering the smallest, most sarcastic smile you can muster. You’re ridiculously thankful for your shades right now, because you don’t think you’d be able to keep the distaste off your face. You catch glimpses of the other people in the restaurant whispering, and you’re relatively sure one or two of the paparazzi are talking to whoever will answer their questions. 

“This is absolutely prohibited! You all need to leave. The police will, and have, been notified of this violation!” the restaurant manager is talking as loud as possible without actually shouting, and you appreciate the guy's efforts. Despite being only half your height, he’s convincingly pissed off, hands resting stonily against his hips. Several of the staff are blocking off any further access to the restaurant, and barricading the aisle you’re stuck in to the best of their ability, but you think you see a few extra faces lurking outside. 

The few that have gotten in are snapping pictures still, but you think they seem a little more apprehensive. Less questions are being shouted, and more gossip is being exchanged. You try your best to tune it out, whipping out your phone. You want to text Karkat to let him know you might take a while, but the sound of sirens distract you. There’s a sudden scrambling for the door, and the photographers dissipate.

You spend the next hour or so answering pointless questions from the police - “What? No, they didn’t steal anything, just my fucking privacy.” You hate being stuck in situations like this, especially when you just want to get the hell out. You don’t really care who was harassing you or whatever, you have shit to do. Namely, a person to check on. 

Eventually they do finish, and you just have to grab your jacket from the table. When you turn around, you come face to face with the manager again.

“I’m so sorry, sir, that was unacceptable,” he states briskly, eyes narrowed into an impressive line. His moustache almost perfectly resembles his eyebrows. “Your meal will be offered free tonight. My sincerest apologies.”

“Not your fault, bro,” you reply, patting him lightly on the shoulder. He looks a little relieved, and perhaps a little confused - probably at being addressed as ‘bro’. “Hey, but take this for your problems,” you add, rooting through your pocket for your wallet. You hand him several twenties, refusing to listen to his protests. You add, “If you feel guilty, consider that a tip for the waiter.”

Honestly, you should have thought further into tonight. This was possibly your stupidest idea (and any one of your band members will attest that you have some massively shitty ideas). 

Karkat looked pretty upset. 

You grimace a little, heading quickly for your car. With the police hovering around, you shouldn’t be spotted leaving. You didn’t want to just send Karkat off, but that was better than making him stay with you, wasn’t it? He shouldn’t be put through this bullshit, especially if he isn’t comfortable with it. The two of you can curl up on his couch or something, and forget this crap ever happened. 

The drive goes by relatively fast, and you take some back roads, just in case someone did manage to follow you. After circling the block three times, you decide it’s safe to park across from the apartment complex. You sit tight for another five minutes - seriously, you can’t have anyone figuring out where Karkat lives - before you hop out and head for the door. 

God, you really hope he’s ok. 

You remember the number and the floor, and after overshooting his actual door once, you find it again without much trouble. The apartment building is sort of cramped, but most of them tend to be that way. Inside his actual flat is nicer than you’d think, though, after seeing the outside of the building. You’re looking forward to a familiar place.

You stare at the door for a solid thirty seconds, knock twice, then wait. You actually think you hear muffled voices from in the apartment, though you assume it’s just the tv. Ugh, splaying out on the couch sounds so great right now. Especially with Karkat. You kind of just want to curl around him and never move. You can always figure this out tomorrow. 

What you aren’t expecting is to see Gamzee at the door. When the devil’s clown swings it open, you almost make a strangled squeaking sound. The last time you saw Gamzee, he looked mildly high with light traces of face paint marking his cheekbones. He’d been in a cozy looking pair of pyjama pants, and chilled on your couch next to your Bro. You remember him threatening you, but it hadn’t sounded all that menacing at the time. All in all, he’d seemed relatively harmless. Now, however, he’s wearing almost all black, decked out in a fair share of chains and artful spikes. The tight clothes hug his frame, accentuating just how tall and reedy he is. He literally looms over you, face cast in the shadows from the low light of the apartment. He’s not smiling. Your heart stutters slightly. 

“And what the _motherfuck_ are you doing here?” he asks slowly, and you have the overwhelming urge to take a step back. Whatever carefree, blissed out expression he had back in your apartment is long gone, replaced by something a lot more sinister. 

“Uh. Coming to see Karkat,” is what you get out, bouncing between surprise and panic. He looks pissed. 

“After what you did to him? Do you know how I found my best friend, Strider?” he asks, still speaking too slow, with weird emphases on his words. Your chest does a flop into your stomach, and a chill flicks up your spine. Gamzee moves a little closer, lips twitching down. 

“Right _here_ ,” he growls, shoving you back a step. You almost trip, stumbling back. What? “On the motherfucking _floor_ outside his apartment.” He shoves you again. 

You can stop him. You’ve spent years sparring with Bro, learning tips and tricks, and attending his Kali classes. Defence is practically your middle name, you’ve got blocking blows so god damn ingrained in your head. That's not to mention how efficient you are at delivering your own hits, when you need to. Still, your body doesn’t move. A sort of numbness drifts down your limbs, and you watch Gamzee take another step forward. He reminds you of a wire pulled too tight, as though he might snap at random and whip you down. 

“His hands were _shaking_ so bad, he couldn’t open the _motherfucking_ door.”

Jesus. 

There are not enough words to describe the frequent waves of self-hatred you deal with, but this is probably the worse you’ve felt in a long time. Actually, you don’t remember ever feeling this bad; the closest you can conjure up is that one time you accidentally tripped a pregnant woman. God knows you’d felt shitty for weeks over that, but this - the guilt roaring up your throat - tastes so much worse.

“I didn’t-“ you begin, not sure what you’re going to say. Gamzee doesn’t give you a chance. 

Two hands shove you back again, harder, until they’ve pinned you against the opposing wall. Your breath puffs out, and your head cracks backwards, prompting the sudden appearance of constellations in your eyes. You don’t move. 

“Get the hell out. And if you ever hurt my _best motherfucking friend_ again, I will personally hunt you down so I can use your skin as a wall mural.”

He pushes once more against you, hard enough that you can’t breathe for a moment, then disappears back into the apartment without another sound. You’re left outside, wheezing, trying not to topple over. 

Holy shit. 

You stumble for the stairs, ignoring the sharp pain at the back of your head. 

You did that to Karkat. Your legs shake a little as you go down the stairs, and your vision pitches once or twice, but you don’t stop. You’re trying to rationalize that you didn’t mean for it to happen, and yeah, you kind of charged into the public eye, but Karkat said he wanted to go, right?

You should have turned around when Karkat first told you to. You should’ve stayed in his apartment and watched a movie. You should have ordered fucking take out, or gotten coffee, or done something mildly normal instead of dragging him out to an expensive restaurant. How upset would he have to be to call Gamzee to get you to leave? He wasn’t even giving you a chance to explain. 

Explain what? That you’re the human epitome of trash? 

You get back to your car, feeling like someone just poured a full fucking ice-tray of frozen water down your pants. Your head’s still throbbing, and you have the slightly irrational urge to hit something. 

You can’t really be that surprised, you guess. You usually fuck things up.

It’s a long drive home. 

* * *

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and your phone won’t stop vibrating. 

Generally, you would turn over and ignore it. Actually, that’s what you were trying to do for the past twenty-two minutes (according to the clock on your DVD player) but it hasn’t fucking stopped. Not once. 

It buzzes again. 

You groan, burying your head deeper into the couch pillow. Gamzee must have left to sleep in his own room at some point, though you swear you can still smell the faint, unmistakable musk of weed and blueberries. No matter how much you’d complained and moaned about it, you came to miss that stupid smell in your couch cushions. 

You roll over, reaching blindly at the coffee table for your phone. With your free hand, you scrub lightly at your eyes. You have a bit of a lingering headache, but you feel a little better now. Last night was… A fucking disaster, you guess. Oh man, were you asleep when Dave got back?

Right. Dave. _Did_ he come back?

Mouth tightening slightly, you unlock your phone to an alarming amount of texts. Jesus, what happened this time? Who the fuck died? 

Eridan’s still sending some, and something similar to "all over the fuckin wweb” flashes across the top of your screen. Your stomach twists uneasily, and you open up his messages first.

kar did you go out wwith davve last night  
to some sorta fancy restaurant or something where i dunno people may have seen ya  
seriously havve you been online recently  
wwait dont answer that i knoww you havvent. i dunno howw to put this lightly kar but you two are everywhere  
my blog is filled with pictures of you. theyre pretty dodgy wwith bad angles an shit and i coulda done better but thats beyond the point  
are you fuckin sleepin already you lazy sack of shit this is important

alright its mornin now have you checked your phone yet  
cmon kar keep me updated. wwhy are you all over the fuckin web  
wwhat the fuck is goin on  
im tryin to be a friend here but youre not makin it easy  
wwake the hell up already!

HOLD ON.

about fuckin time jesus

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M ALL OVER THE WEB?

i mean exactly wwhat I said  
take a look: https://www.tumblr.com/search/dave+strider+and+his+boyfriend

There aren’t a lot of pictures, but there are enough. A few of you both sitting in the restaurant, half hidden behind the glass. A couple with food shoved half in your mouth, or smiles on your faces. Mostly there are pictures of your back, as you hurried out the rear entrance of the restaurant.

There are a lot of Dave. His sunglasses hide a lot, but you catch some of his expressions, and your chest tightens again. 

Jesus fucking titseeds.

If you weren’t so tired, your anxiety would probably rear up again. As it is, your brain seems to have exhausted itself, and instead you feel an odd disconnect, as though it isn’t really you in those pictures. Mostly, you want to know where the hell Dave is. Did he ever come back? You definitely need to have a talk about this now. Preferably before this all hits you, and you actually process the meaning behind these stupid fucking photos. 

Did he end up coming in? You didn’t wake up to him at the door. Did he… He didn’t just leave, did he? You go back into your unread messages, but none of them are from him. Maybe Gamzee let him in…?

You roll reluctantly off the couch and, for the second time in two weeks, sneer down at your choice of pyjamas. You really need to stop sleeping in jeans, this is getting ridiculous. Quietly, you head for your own room, swinging the door open slowly. You’re more disappointed than you’ll admit to seeing the room empty. 

Ugh, whatever. Gamzee probably turned Dave away then. 

You pull on a pair of sweatpants, then look through the other messages on your phone. You’re willing to bet Eridan told all your other friends by now, and you can only imagine they’ve all had to get a say in. You love your friends, honestly, but sometimes you have to remind yourself why when they do dumb shit like this. 

)(-EY KARKAT! Eridan is glubbing aboat you and Dave on the internet or something. )(e asked me to talk to you so thats w)(at im doing! 38)  
)(ave you figured it out yet? Let minnow if you need to talk later! We miss )(aving you around all the time.

YEAH I JUST GOT ERIDAN’S WALL OF PURPLE CATASTROPHE. AND, UNFORTUNATELY, NO, I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE TRUCKFUCKING HELL IS GOING ON RIGHT NOW. I DIDN’T EXACTLY HAVE TIME TO SURF THE GOD DAMN WEB.

38D

OH. THAT WASN’T MEANT TO BE A PUN.

)(-E)(-E)(-E! Its ok Karkat im shore youll figure it out soon. Um, maybe stay away from the computer, ok?

You run another hand through your hair, resisting the urge to bare your teeth at your phone. You can only imagine what’s going on in the weird band blogs Eridan follows, and at the moment, you really don’t want to see any of it. 

Honestly, what the hell have you been thinking? Dating a band member? This is like an obscure fairy-tale, with a hell of a lot more puppet ass. Are you really that into Dave? It’s been, what, two fucking weeks? You’ve read a hell of a lot of romance novels, and watched twice as many rom-coms, and a lot of them moved fast too. You liked to assume that’s how it would work - you fall over yourself for someone, and they fall for you, and it all ends happily. That's all turned out a little different than you thought.

And, you know what, meeting Dave is one of the best things that’s ever happened to you. God, only a month ago you were excited just to see him playing on stage. Now you’re dating him? The two of you rocketed into this without a second thought. 

This is worse than those fanfics Eridan links you to ~~that you absolutely do not stay up until the early hours of the morning reading~~. Are you sure Dave is into you that much? He’s been great, but he’s also - well, Dave Strider.

“Karbro?” the voice startles you enough that your phone flips on to the floor. You turn to the door, where Gamzee is rubbing at one of his eyes, a lazy grin on his face. “Sleep ok?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you reply, picking up your cell. Gamzee wanders over to sit next to you, and you appreciate his arm against yours as you open more of your unread messages. 

Hey 8uddy, how’s fame? :::;) I don’t really care, I’m just wondering if John’s talked to you lately. I think he’s 8een avoiding my texts, and I can’t tell if he’s 8usy or stupid.

Yeah, you’re not dealing with her right now. You hope John ran for the fucking hills. 

2o ii 2ee you went and got your2elf iintwo another 2iituatiion  
ii am completely and utterly un2urprii2ed  
but how are you holdiing up?

I’M FINE, CAPTOR. I WOULD BE BETTER IF ERIDAN COULD KEEP HIS ENORMOUS SHITSPITTER CLOSED, BUT I DON’T THINK THAT’S PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE.  
CAN YOU JUST TELL EVERYONE TO CALM THEIR TITS?

You pretty much don’t want to talk about this right now. At least, not to anyone who isn’t Dave. Even the thought of talking to him sends a pang down your esophagus.

SO 1F YOU N33D 4 L4WY3R FOR 4LL TH1S SH1T GO1NG DOWN 1 KNOW 4 GUY >:]

You shut off your phone, fighting a groan. Gamzee shifts beside you, so he can nudge you lightly with his elbow. 

“What’s the new word?”

“I don’t know yet,” you try to keep the growl out of your voice, but it’s hard. “I need to talk to Dave.”

The change in your friend is almost palpable, and you glance over in surprise when you see Gamzee’s spine stiffen. “What the fuck has gotten into you?” you ask.

“Why do you have to talk to that motherfucker? I think you’re better off without him,” Gamzee responds, voice taking on a cooler tone. You turn to face him fully now, physically trying to wipe the bewildered scowl off your face. 

“What? Why?”

“Look at what he did to you, Karbro! He motherfucking abandoned you outside your own apartment. That’s not fucking ok.”

“You don’t even know what happened!” you snap back, one hand coming up to rub angrily at your face. “He had to deal with some assholes trying to take pictures of us, alright? He got me out and dealt with it.”

“He left you in the middle of a panic attack!” Gamzee's voice sharpens, and you almost flinch away from him. His eyes have taken on a cold gleam you recognize. You don’t see it often, and it doesn’t send the same sort of fear through you like it used to, but you feel a trickle of trepidation. 

“What the fuck else was he going to do?” 

“Stay with you! He shouldn’t have motherfucking ditched you when you needed someone there,” Gamzee actually throws his hands up, and you flinch backwards slightly. “He didn’t even think about you.”

“How was he supposed to know that!? It’s not like I gave him a crash course pamphlet on Karkat’s emotional breakdowns. ‘In case of a panic attack, stick next to that whiny bitch, because he’ll shut down for an hour’.”

“That doesn’t make him up and leaving you ok, Karbro, Jesus Christ-“

“I’m having a shower, ok?” you cut across, standing suddenly. Gamzee goes to grab your arm, muttering something else, but you hurry into your en suite, slamming the door behind you. You have the irritating urge to cry again, but you vehemently shove that away, shucking off your clothes and turning the water on hot. You only realize you've been holding your breath once you let it out into the steam of the shower.

While you’re scrubbing at your hair, you can’t help but wonder if Gamzee is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY you should all check out this [hella cool davekat amv](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CgX26pVWC7Y), made for me by [ash](http://ash-fave.tumblr.com)! It's fucking beautiful. Show it some love. Lather it in the oils of the gods. Put a ring on it. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm going to skip the usual apologies for this chapter, and hope ya'll understand I wish I was capable of updating faster. I'm not sure if anyone noticed the note I added to the last chapter, but I was thinking from this point on, I would finish the rest of the chapters in one go and release them all at once. This means, of course, that there would be a short hiatus - but then again, you'll get the rest of the fic in one update! So you're not left hanging at the ending haha. What do you guys think?? There are approximately four chapters left, if I follow my schedule haha.  
> And of course, if I'm taking a long time, please feel free to send encouragements/questions on updates to [my tumblr](http://kissoftreachery.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Also, thanks so much again to everyone reading! I'll half forget about this fic, and then one of you lovely souls will leave a message, and I get beautiful butterflies in my tummy all over again.


	17. i would offer you a cup of coffee or something, but i hate you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Dave Strider, and you think you would be happy living under your bed for the rest of your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight so I'm tired and probably didn't edit this properly, but I'm too stoked that I finished a chapter to wait until morning. I'll go back and fix grammar problems later. In the meantime, enjoy!

Your name is Dave Strider, and you think you would be happy living under your bed for the rest of your life. 

Or maybe, like, a year. Fucking hibernate. Make bro bring you pizza and aj. Watch John’s stupid Nic Cage movies and fall into a sad enough mental state that you actually start _enjoying_ them. 

You shudder a little, involuntarily. Yeah, you don’t think you could sink that low. But you are curled up under your bed, smashing buttons on your DS, and beating the Elite Four for the fifth time. They should probably just give you your own city at this point. You fucking rock at pokemon. You’ve been playing for, what, thirteen hours now? Shit’s hardcore. No-one wants to fuck with your fire starter pokemon. 

(Ok, so you forget which game you’re actually playing. The screen has sort of dissolved into a blur, but you always pick the fire starter. Who _doesn’t_ pick the fire starter? Everyone knows they kick the most ass.)

Whatever, it doesn’t matter what game it is. It’s been keeping your hands busy, and you get to lie on the cold, dead floor instead of out where the sun can get you. Was it always that bright? The sun never stopped being a pain in the ass, but it’s been fucking brutal on your eyes lately. What is it doing, trying to outshine P Diddy’s golden grills of 2006? You’re going to sue it’s beaming ass if it doesn’t stop. 

Yeah, you should definitely just stay under here.

“Daaave,” you don’t hear the door open, so the voice startles you. “Daaaaave!”

No. Oh, fuck no. “That son of a bitch.”

“Dave, get out from there.”

“Go away egg-face.”

“I’m not leaving until you get out.”

“Fuck you.”

“You have to be a gentleman and buy me dinner first.”

You turn enough so you can look out from under your bed, where a pair of disgustingly familiar socks are waiting for you. One of them taps up and down a few times, and you stick your tongue out at it (fuck being childish, no-one can see, and it makes you feel better).

“I’m not coming out.”

“The last time you said that, you got hammered and made out with that Swedish dude in front of everyone in our English class.”

“Jesus Christ Egbert,” you groan, swinging further so your head is closer to where the edge of the bed starts. “We agreed never to talk about that.”

“You’re being stupid,” John’s face is suddenly way too close, and you’re pretty sure you look surprised to see him, because he starts snickering. You scowl half-heartedly and turn away from him again, bringing your DS closer to your face. 

“Why are you under the bed, anyways? How do you fit under there?”

“It’s a skill. I told you I’m a certified ninja, bro. I’ve got a plaque and everything. Part of training is squeezing yourself into the smallest ball of self-contempt you can, and seeing how long you can let your life waste away without actually dying. It’s more of an initiation than training, actually. It’s all a part of becoming a Strider. Otherwise you get locked in the vault for three years, with nothing but Old Man Jenkins keeping you company, spitting into a pot every few minutes because there is literally nothing better to do. You end up falling asleep on the cold, hard ground, to the whispered mutterings of an old lunatic. Do you think that’s funny, Egbert? Do you think you should still be interrupting my practice? Only the best of the best can withstand it. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh my god, shut up. Where do you even get that bullshit,” John pokes you in the back, and you twist enough to see him lying on the floor now, trying to squish under the bed. You snort in response and scooch further away, turning up the battle tunes on your pokemon game. 

You ignore any further grunts and creaks of John squishing under your bed, until an arm snakes over your head and snatches your DS from you. The sudden darkness is unexpected enough that you see stars, and have to blink at your empty hands, momentarily confused. 

“What the fuck Egbert,” you turn, fully intending to grab it back, but John already tossed it out from your beautiful dark space and is blocking the only exit by propping half up on one shoulder. He even managed to awkwardly cross his arms, which makes you want to laugh, but you still kind of hate everything so you can’t muster one. 

“Dave. Seriously. You’re moping.”

“Nah, I just like it down here.”

“ _Dave_. Dirk literally drove to my house, climbed in through my second story window, and burst in on me going pee just to get me to come here,” John grimaces, and this time your lips twitch upwards. “God knows a fucking text won’t cut it for him, he had to deliver the message ‘in person’ because it’s ‘polite’- ugh, this isn't even the point! It’s been, like, a week, and you didn’t come to practice on Thursday. Can you snap out of this already?”

“Out of what? I’ve been tired and shit. Just taking some time to myself. Catching up on the Z’s and stuff. Do you know how many Z’s I’ve caught now, John? All of them. I hunted every one of those fuckers down. I’m like that guy from Jimanji, except with a giant turn-table of dreams and wishes instead of a gun-“

“Shut up, oh my god. Look, we all know you’re upset about Karkat-“

You must flinch, because John trails off, eyebrows knitting. You kind of want to smack your head on the bed frame. Ugh, ok, you know you’re being an idiot. Does John realize how many times you start to type up shit to Karkat in your phone? It happens a lot, Egbert. You swear you’ve tried. But you just _can’t fucking send it_. You pushed too hard at his boundaries, then failed to be there when they broke, and now you don’t know where you stand. You don’t want to fuck up anything else. Gamzee made it pretty clear you weren't wanted. 

So, you're waiting for him to text you first. Or call you or some shit. Anything. A fucking note taped to the bottom of your shoe, you don’t care. And yet, when you checked three hours ago (thirteen? When did you start playing pokemon?) there still wasn’t anything. Obviously he’s pissed at you, or he would have said something, right? It’s been almost a week. 

“We all know you’re upset,” John finally continues, “But lying around is kind of dumb?”

“I know it’s stupid, but I’m enjoying myself.”

“Under a bed.”

“Yes. It’s dark and shit.”

“That’s kind of what I was getting at.”

“I’ve been fighting off a migraine, ok?”

John sighs, and shuffles around a little until he’s lying more on his stomach than his side. “Look, do you… Wanna talk about it?”

“What’s to talk about?” you roll on to your stomach too, mostly so you don’t have to make eye contact with John. You didn’t think of bringing your shades down here, where it’s as black as satan’s purity ring, but now you wish you had that extra comfort. You’ve already run everything through your head a million times, and no matter what anyone else says, you have no intention of taking a different course of action. 

“Alright then. Well. Vriska and I broke up.”

“Wait, what?” you look over, eyebrows arching. John’s front teeth are worrying at his lower lip.

“Um, yeah. I really like Vriska! A lot! But I don’t think she’s right for me?” He sighs again, and sinks down to the floor, until his chin is resting between his front hands. 

“Sorry, bro.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I think we’ll still be buddies!” John turns enough that you catch a small smile, though you’d be willing to bet he’s still upset about the whole thing. “I mean, I kind of wished it lasted longer, I guess? She can be so nice sometimes, and funny, but then she does something really…”

“Insane?”

“No! Maybe a little?” John sighs again, and ends up grabbing a stray smuppet near the front of your bed, tugging it close to his chest. Oh, no, not this again. Not with _those_. “She keeps texting me though, and it kind of sounds like she wants to hook up? And I don’t really know how to deal with that, so I’ve kind of being ignoring her.”

“John, you’re doing the ‘hold-on-to-whatever-is-soft-and-within-arm’s-reach’ thing again.”

He ignores you. “She’s so pretty, Dave. I like kissing her. A _lot_. She’s just too much for me to handle in a relationship!”

“Seriously John, look at what you’re holding,” you try to point, but you think his eyes have glazed over a little. For the love of...

“Like, if she was looking for the same thing I am, it might work? But I don’t think she is! She just wants to do a bunch of stuff that was really fun and cool at first, but it’s kind of tiring now. I can’t keep up anymore. I just want a nice cuddle-y date for once, you know? Instead of, like, eight Bloody Mary’s and waking up someplace I don’t know. Is that too much to ask?”

“John Egbert, drop the fucking smuppet before I kick you.”

“Drop the wh-? Oh, jesus fuck!” John shoves the offending plushie away, successfully snapping his head against the bed in the process. “Ugghh, can we get out from under here now? Please?”

You snort, but nod your approval with a quiet, “Yeah.” The two of you awkwardly crawl out, each cursing once or twice when you hit yourselves on the frame. You’re covered in dust, which is literally no surprise, but you don’t really care. The discarded DS is still humming a battle tune when you both sit at the edge of your bed. 

“Can you at least come out and talk to Rose and Jade?” John finally asks, brushing a dust bunny from his jeans. You groan a little in response, rubbing at your eyes. 

“Yeah, whatever. Where are they?”

“Um, the living room, actually.”

“Oh my god. You’re all assholes,” you grumble, standing abruptly and snatching up your shades from your bedside table. John shrugs, grinning again. Reluctantly, you follow him out of your room, into what can only be a disaster waiting to happen. 

* * *

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you’re relatively certain you got the right address. 

At least, this is where you tracked the kid’s phone number to. You’re not proud of admitting that you hacked a college kid's personal identity code, but you’re kind of getting desperate to fix the bullshit going down in your brother’s life. You can only take so much moping before it starts sticking to your fucking apartment and smelling up the hallways. You swear you can feel the angst seeping right through your nose and messing with your brain. The only shit you need up there is smuppets and ponies, thank you very much, Dave, ya mopey little shit. 

Adjusting your hat briefly, you head for the entrance. Sure, you guess you could scale the escape stairs again, but you think you’ve pushed your luck enough with the whole hacker thing. The kid wasn’t all that fond of you to begin with, so you don’t think he’d appreciate you barging in on his balcony. 

Thankfully, luck is on your side tonight, because someone comes out of the building right as you’re heading in. They give you a look, and you respond with your shittiest grin, tipping your shades briefly in salute. They don’t say anything when you walk inside. 

The kid’s room is somewhere halfway up, so you sprint the stairs - you’re proud of this toned dorito body, thank you very fuckin’ much - and end up in another generic hallway. You’re not sure exactly which door it is, so you end up chatting with a kindly old lady for a few minutes, then getting grunted at by some middle-aged asshole, before you’re relatively certain you’ve picked the right place. At least, you don’t think many other people answer with, “GIVE ME TWO FUCKING MINUTES SHITFACE.”

You cross your arms over your chest, and wait the two fucking minutes impatiently, considering just breaking the door down for the sake of time management. You’re a business man, after all. 

Finally, the door snaps open, and short-n-stout is there glaring at you like he’s about to rip you a new one. You’re not sure what you’d use to describe his expression, but it turns into something sour pretty quickly, and you’re worried for a sec that the kid’s gonna throw up on you. Damn, you’re not that old and greasy, are you? 

“What- why are you-?” he stumbles a bit over the sentence, then swallows once, and glowers at you with a newfound anger. “Can you get the fuck out of my hallway?”

“Sure, kid, just let me in. We’re goin’ to have a talk.”

“What? The hell do you want to talk about!? Go away,” he tries to shut the door, but you jam your foot in between the wood, and swing it back open. Apparently he really is as scrawny as he looks, cause it doesn't take a whole lot of force. 

“Don’t play stupid, kid, we both know what I’m here to talk about. Don’t make me pick you up.”

Karkat puffs up his chest, and you think he’s going to try and slam the door in your face again. Instead, he lets out an exasperated huff, and turns tail. “You aren’t going to leave until you do whatever the fuck you want to, are you? Fine. What-fucking-ever, invade my house. See if I give two shits. Just don’t touch anything.” 

Rude. You follow after him, and end up settling down at the tiny kitchen table. You sprawl out in the chair opposite Karkat, sticking your legs out to the side so you have more room to stretch. Not that you’d tell anyone, but you’re pretty good at reading other people (look at all the practice you had with Dave), and this kid looks pretty miserable. So, as you’d guessed, he’s being just as dense as your little bro. 

“What do you want? I would offer you a cup of coffee or something, but I hate you.”

You snort, flipping off your hat to run a hand through your hair. “Yeah, I know you only let me in ‘cause you want to know what’s up with the smallest Strider,” you respond, ignoring a grimace from Karkat. “You realize you’re both being huge fuckin’ dumbasses, right?”

Karkat blinks at you a few times, face twisting. You’re more amused than intimidated. “Listen here, dickswiffer, I didn’t ask for you to come down here and preach at me. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish by being here. Just… Tell me whatever the fuck you have to say and get out, alright?”

“You’re such a charmer. I see what Dave likes in you,” you sigh, leaning back further in the chair and lacing your fingers behind your head. Karkat, if possible, looks even more uncomfortable than before. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it a little. Still, you do want to get this over and done with.

“Alright, I’ll keep it simple,” you finally get out, adjusting your hat again. “Go tell Dave how you feel.”

“I- what?”

“Go tell my little shit of a bro how you feel. I don’t fucking care if you like him, or if you hate him, just let him know. For the love of all that’s good and holy in my apartment, give him some closure.”

Karkat’s face morphs through a few more expressions, and lands somewhere around uncomfortable indignation. “Why the fuck are you coming to me about this? Dave hasn’t tried to contact me, either. I just assumed he- hmpfh. Well, I thought he was done with me.“

You raise an eyebrow at that, and can’t help snorting. “Holy shit kid, do you have any idea what you do to him? I don't know what happened between you two, but he’s been moping for a fuckin’ week. It’s starting to leave depression stains on my carpet.”

Karkat’s quiet for a minute, looking down at his hands. You notice they’re shaking lightly, cause they’re clenched so tight. Ah, fuck, you didn’t bring up too much, did you? Whatever, if this pushes them into figuring out whatever is going on, you don’t feel bad. It’s about time they deal with this. Seriously, you are _this close_ to locking them in a closet together. 

“I’ll make this a little easier - Dave is still head over heels for you, a'ight? You don’t have to worry about him hating you or whatever the fuck. He’s got Strider charm, but he’s a fuckin’ mess when it comes to romance, so he's probably lost right now. He’s got a good poker face, but holy fuck does that kid’s mind spin. I don’t know what’s going on with you, Karks, but it sure as hell looks like you’ve got some feelings bullshit you gotta get out too.”

Karkat stares at you for a moment, looking thoroughly confused. He’s kind of like a lost kitten, you observe. Aight, you admit it’s a little cute. You guess you understand what Dave’s all hung up over. You don’t think he’s going to actually get any words out, though, cause despite the fact his mouth is opening and closing, nothing’s coming out. His eyes dart down to the table. You sigh again.

“I’ve already meddled enough,” you stand in a fluid motion. Karkat still doesn’t look at you. “So I’m gonna get out of your apartment now. Seriously, though, give him a call or something, will ya? It will do you both good.”

You don’t wait for him to show you out, and saunter from Karkat’s apartment yourself, not bothering to look back. You’re not one to brag, but you think you got the wheel turning on this one. 

For the love of cocklaeger, let them actually try to work this out. 

* * *

Your name is Dave Strider, and hanging out with the band helps more than you expected. Every time you get back together, just the four of you, it's a happy reminder of why you started Grimdark in the first place. It’s only been an hour and you’re already stifling tears from laughing so hard at Jade’s impressions. Even Rose’s smirk has cracked into a genuine laugh, and you’re leaning against John’s shoulder, which is shaking with his own breathy giggles.

“It’s alright, sweetcheeks, my hair is slick enough for both of us,” Jade drawls out, winking with an impeccable likeness to Cronus Ampora. 

“Holy shit, Jade, stop,” John wheezes out, leaning back against you now. 

“Aw, come on babe, I’ll be gentle.”

“ _Jade_ that’s terrible!”

You actually wipe a tear from your cheek, trying desperately hard not to smile at wide as you are, but you really can’t help it. Your cheeks fucking hurt, you haven’t laughed like this in ages. God, you are such an idiot. You always forget that these assholes are actually fun to have around. 

The laughter dies down slowly, and you’re all left breathing heavily and grinning at each other. You notice the others exchanging glances, and have no doubt that getting you to laugh was their original goal. Fuckin’ nerds. You love them. 

“So, Dave, will you please come back to our practices?” Rose eventually asks, eyebrows arched. You compose yourself, shrugging one shoulder, as though missing them hadn’t been a big deal. You know she can read you, so there’s really no point in trying to hide your emotions, but it’s sort of habit now.

“Yeah, I’ll grace you all with my vocals again. It’s been too long since you’ve heard the honey-sweet tones of God’s ambrosia, straight from the Strider’s mouth. Your eardrums must have shrivelled up from lack of Dave time. I’m surprised any of you can even hear yourselves right now, it’s a miracle you haven’t gone into complete withdrawal.”

“Oh, absolutely. I can’t wait to have those golden tones ascend my hearing back to the very trough of Christ’s wealth,” Rose responds readily, and you feel your lips twitch up involuntarily. 

Your phone vibrates, and for once, your heart doesn’t leap. Your bro is still a douche, but you have to admit this did help. Maybe you'll thank him for getting everyone together (hah, fat chance of that). You flip on your iPhone, ready to tell Dirk to fuck off, when you actually see the name at the top of your messages. 

(1) Karkat Vantas: HEY DAVE, CAN WE TALK?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h ol y fuck guys I actually updated. I think I hear bells. angels are singing. _fuck yes_.
> 
> phew ok this was such a hard filler chapter to get through. my muse up and left, and I was left struggling to write something I didn't have any passion for. so, that is why this damn thing took so long! however, I was struck by sudden inspiration, and managed to get it done!!  
> I'm going to do my best to get the next few chapters out quick here too. There's only a few left, kiddos! We're almost there!
> 
> ~~remind me never to upload a fic again before I actually finish writing it. my procrastination is off the charts.~~
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways, thanks again to everyone who sent me messages here or on [my tumblr](http://kissoftreachery.tumblr.com)! Ya'll helped push me through this one, and I definitely appreciate it. You guys are fantastic, bless all of you.


	18. I missed you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Karkat Vantas, and your leg won’t stop bouncing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might fix a few things in this chapter later, but it had to be posted!

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and your leg won’t stop bouncing. You keep trying to stop it, every time you notice, but by the fifth time you realize it’s not fucking working and decide to just ignore it instead. Who needs functioning body parts, anyways? You’ve had a bad record with those. 

Seriously, though, your palms are sweating and your chest feels tight. Sunlight is filtering through the cafe window, warming your arms a little, and yet you’re still inexplicably cold. Why did you think this was a good idea, again? You let out a harsh breath, sticking your head in your hands. Normally, the gentle chatter of the coffee shop would calm you down, but today it’s just pissing you off. Not only did you ask Dave to meet you, you asked him to meet you in a public place, where someone could spot you again. What in ever-loving, shit-eating, scrubfucking tits were you thinking? That’s kind of what fucked you up in the first place. 

You scowl at yourself, uncomfortable again. Whenever you think about the restaurant incident, you feel like a piss-baby. You over-reacted, and then decided that was it? And you guess you still think this is the end of it? Fuck, you’re not going to lie, it hurts thinking like that. You know the whole thing was rushed, but it was also one of the best months you’ve ever had, even if it ended like… Ugh. 

This is so stupid. You hate relationships. You’re going to bury yourself in a hole and stay there.

Someone walks into the cafe, and you jump in your seat, eyes flickering to where the bell chimed. Nope, not Dave. You let out another breath, trying to relax your back. You don’t know how much you actually trust Dave’s brother, but his words have been flashing through your mind on a frequent basis. It’s annoying as hell, but it’s also sparked something you would feel inclined to call hope. You don’t _want_ to feel hope. If he’s done with you, it’s just going to suck even more. You guess it’s all been too good to be true, anyways. What’s the point now? You're tempted to get up and leave. Maybe Dave won't even show up! What good reason is there, other than dragging this all out? 

“Karkat?” 

You don’t jump this time, but you can’t breathe for a second. You turn slightly, and catch sight of blonde hair. An overwhelming ball forms in your chest, and you desperately push it down, with all the other bullshit rushing through your head. Subconsciously, you shuffle your chair a bit so he has more room to sit. Your eyes linger on his cheekbones, and the line of his jaw, skipping across the usual shades over his face. He’s got a beanie on, too, and a casual red t-shirt paired with black pants. His lips are thin, but you can’t read an actual emotion from them. Distaste? Disinterest? Longing? 

Ugh, you need to stop. 

“Dave,” you respond, because you can’t get anything else out. For a moment, you just stare at each other, caught in silence. 

Finally, you shift again, eyes flicking away. Your heart is pounding. It’s been a pretty long time since you saw him last, and your fingers are itching to run through his hair. You catch movement from his hands, too, despite them being shoved in his pockets. You would bet he’s tapping out something against his leg. 

Christ, now that he’s actually in front of you, everything you planned to say has disappeared. “I, uh…” you trail off. “Well. I guess we need to… Mm.”

He leans back a bit, arching an eyebrow over his shades. “Cat got your tongue?”

What? You blink a few times, slightly taken aback. “Don’t be rude, you asshole, I’m trying to ‘openly communicate’, or whatever you call this.”

“Yeah, that’s working really well for you. In fact, we’ve been great at the whole ‘be open’ thing this past week. Fucking revolutionary.”

You blink a few times, and your face slowly morphs into a scowl. “Well, excuse me. I’m not the one that disappeared off the face of the planet. I guess it was a little much to expect a text or a call after you dropped me in a cab and fucked off like a chimpanzee with a banana up it’s ass.”

“Kinky.”

“That’s not-!"

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I felt incredibly welcome when your oversized clown threatened to break my face. Your welcoming committee needs a bit of work there, Kit-kat."

“My... Clown?”

Dave sighs a little, and you think his mouth twitches down. He runs a hand over his face, and your chest squishes again. Jesus, you knew this wasn’t going to go well, but what the hell? What’s got his balls in a knot? It’s not like you said anything to him! You kind of just assumed he decided he didn’t want to go public with the whole boyfriend gig. It probably wouldn’t be great for his career, and it’s still kind of one of those social taboos, but…

“I went to see you, after I sent you back, but Gamzee made it pretty clear I should fuck off,” Dave clarifies, slowly, and you blink a couple times. Ohh... Shit. God damn it. You know your friend gets a little, uh, over-protective, cause it used to be a thing when you were younger, but- _Fuck._

“Did he…?”

“It’s fine, I just figured he was being pretty obvious about me not coming back,” Dave shrugs one shoulder, and for probably the sixtieth time since you met him, you wished he wasn’t wearing those stupid fucking shades. It’s hard to read him when he’s hunched in on himself, barely moving. You have the sudden urge to draw _some_ kind of emotion out, just so you know what the hell he’s feeling. 

“I didn’t know,” is all you end up actually saying, though, trying not to shuffle awkwardly in your seat. “He just… He doesn’t have a lot of friends, and I uh, was kind of in a weird spot when he found me, so that was probably why. I don’t think Gamzee actually hates you or anything, he’s just misguided, and acts before he thinks. Actually, he never thinks, he’s such a dumb-ass. He tries, just in all the wrong, idiotic ways. I’m sorry.”

You have to stop yourself from stumbling further into one of your rants, and try not to grimace at yourself. Dave still hasn’t moved much, though he’s pulled his hands out of his pockets, and keeps fiddling with a guitar pick. You can actually catch a whiff of his shampoo from here, and it hits your stomach hard. How did you miss him this much? You’re so, SO pathetic. 

“I mean I… Didn’t exactly make an effort, either,” Dave lets out in a breath, and his hand clenches around the pick. He bounces slightly his left foot lightly, presumably glancing away from you, if his eyes are following the direction of his chin. “Um. I’m sorry, too. I thought I did enough damage without hanging around more.”

He doesn't seriously blame himself, does he? Self-loathing is supposed to be your thing. “That wasn’t your fault though-“

“It _was._ That’s _always_ how it’s going to be. I don’t want you to deal with that shit.”

You bite the inside of your lip, eyes darting back up to Dave’s shades. He’s really bad at sitting still, you note, though you aren’t faring much better. God fuck, yeah, that whole experience sucked, but… But if the alternative is not having Dave, that kind of sucks a bigger dick, doesn’t it? Ugh. You feel like this whole decision process is more heavy than it’s supposed to be. For the first time, you wish desperately that he wasn’t famous. Everything would be so much easier, and you wouldn’t be putting this sort of stuff on the line. 

“Well, maybe that’s not your decision to make,” is what you eventually snap, and Dave’s head flicks slightly to the side. You’re a little surprised yourself, but you still cross your arms over your chest with a huff. “It’s not like you were used to it at first, either. I could learn.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Who are you to talk? Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. That doesn’t change that I don’t want to fucking lose you now,” you grit out, scowling. "It’s like… Having someone wave an ice-cream cone in front of you, and letting you taste a bit of it. And it’s the best, good-to-christ concoction of frozen cream you’ve ever tasted in your pathetic, miserable life, and you’d do anything just to have a bit more, but they take it back because you 'can’t handle the flavour' or some shit. I want the fucking ice-cream, Dave.”

There's a long pause, and you have enough time to reflect on what you said. Wow, you're so good with words. Fucking great Karkat, that makes a lot of sense. Why you.

Dave eventually does answer, though, with: “I’m not going to comment on the amount of innuendos in that analogy.”

_Of course._ “Good, I’m sick of hearing you talk.”

“Says the guy who almost shit himself at my concert.”

“Shut the fuck up, Strider, or I’ll find an ice-cream cone to shove up your ass.”

“You seem to have a fixation with my ass.”

“My fist is going to have a fixation with your face if you don’t close your _god damn-“_

Dave lets out a tiny huff of a laugh, and you actually stop talking, surprised by the gentle swell in your chest. There’s no denying the tiny lift in his lips, no matter how small, and it feels like a victory. Jesus, you missed this. His laugh, his voice, the smell of his ironic fucking strawberry shampoo, and especially his lips. Which, you think vaguely, you haven’t stopped staring at, but you don’t really give a shit. 

“Coffee?” Dave blurts out, and you blink yourself out of it. 

“What?”

“Can I buy you a coffee?" He runs a hand through his hair. "Maybe we can try that date again.”

You watch him for a moment, your own mouth twitching. You aren’t going to smile like a fucking idiot. You aren’t. Still, you do have to take a moment to contemplate. Were you serious about facing all the paparazzi and cameras for him? You mean… He isn’t _that_ popular yet, how bad of an idea could it be? You’ve been through it once, and now that you know, it can only go better next time, right? 

God. For him, you want to try. You stare at his face, trying to see any other kind of emotion. For a moment, you think you see a flash of red from behind his shades. 

“Ok,” you answer, and there’s really no stopping the stupid twitch of your lips. 

* * *

Two hours later, the two of you are sitting in Dave’s car, eating ice-cream. You spent the last thirty minutes arguing over where the best frozen treats are served, and the hour before that you walked around the duck pond (and got chased by geese, those assholes). The two of you fell back into pace like nothing had happened. You avoided the topic altogether for the most part, and just laughed over Dave’s stupid stories instead. You narrated people walking past, and almost got run over by a ridiculously large dog, and actually had a decent cup of caramel cappuccino. It’s… Really nice. You keep catching yourself holding your breath, or staring at Dave. You really did miss this. It feels like it’s been so long since you last talked, let alone got to be with him. There’s too much to catch up on. He has a few new stories to share, and he’s been re-counting more stupid things his Bro has been doing.

“He actually fucking climbed up John’s fire escape and snuck into his bathroom,” Dave snorts, catching some of the melting ice-cream with his tongue, “While John was taking a piss. Apparently he didn’t blink an eye.”

“Jesus Christ, your bother is a piece of work. He doesn’t have much regard for personal space, does he?” you let out a small huff, snapping up a bit more of your own ice cream. It’s cookies and cream. “He showed up on my doorstep the other day, too, spitting shit about-“

You pause, realizing you crossed the line. Dave goes quiet for a moment, then sighs lightly. “I should have known he talked to you. That bitch.”

“Uh," you trail off a bit. "If it makes you feel better, he sort of gave me the courage to talk to you,” you eventually shrug, focusing on your ice-cream cone. “Even if he is a piece of shit. I think you should kick his ass either way, but…”

“Agh, fuck. He did everything. That’s such a piss off,” Dave growls, and you glance back over to him.

“Everything?”

“Yeah, he… Alright, well I was kind of. Um. I started just hanging around under my bed for a week or something, and I guess he thought that was the final straw.”

“Under your bed? What the fuck, Dave.”

“Shut up, it was nice, and dark, and not sunny. And I was fine obviously, but he still grabbed the band to come drag my ass out. Actually, that’s sort of why he walked in on John.”

You look up at him again, trying to push down the sudden feelings in your chest. Was he… Upset enough that he was hiding under the god damn bed? You know Dirk said he was moping, but you didn’t think he meant it literally. You just figured Dave was under the weather or some shit. You can’t decide if it makes you feel better, because he _missed you_ , or worse, because you were an absolute shit and didn’t say a thing to him.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You shift your gaze away again, narrowing your eyes with a snort. “At least you can see how I’m looking at you. Those fucking glasses.”

Dave lets out a small breath, and you think he’s laughing lightly again. To your absolute surprise, he actually reaches up to drag them off his face. You’ve almost forgotten what he looks like without them. Your breath catches for a moment, and you’re trying very hard not to let your emotions control your face, but you can’t help. He’s so… Beautiful, is the only word you can think of. He has elegant cheek bones, and delicately arched eyebrows. There are bags under his eyes, almost deep enough to match yours, and the scarlet irises themselves are heart-stopping. 

Dave’s eyes flicker between yours. He looks vulnerable like this. The thin line of his mouth only hides so much.

“I missed you,” he eventually says, and your breath catches again, because he actually said the words. His eyes dart away, then back to your mouth, and you see just the tiniest flicker of his tongue against his lips. You mean to let out a hum of agreement, but it comes out a tad higher pitched than you intended. 

Dave’s eyes widen slightly, and he leans forward half an inch, making your chest squeeze again. He doesn’t get far before he’s looking back to the ice-cream, though, and lets out a frustrated sigh. 

“I’m about to completely waste this,” he states, seriously, hitting a button to roll down the window, “And I think I would enjoy cashing in that movie make-out session now. On sale, sans movie, one time offer.”

You hit your own window button faster than you think you’ve ever moved, and your ice-cream is out the window in seconds. Dave must have done the same, because he leans over, mouth opened slightly as though he needs to catch his breath. You’d like to catch it for him.

There’s half a moment of anticipiation - your eyes are trained on his lips, before they glance back up to his - and then he’s pressed against you again, mouth sliding familiarly against yours. You practically sigh into his embrace, melting slightly. You can taste the chocolate left on his tongue, and the gentle pull at your bottom lip deepens the exchange. Dave’s hand braces against your seat, and it’s sort of awkward leaning over the middle of the car like this, but you could not give a single fuck. You turn enough that your hands can twine up into his hair, and you can grab fist-fuls of those fine, blonde strands. 

Your skin is tingling, and your lips are burning, and soon Dave’s tongue is pushing into your mouth, and you feel completely at ease. This is worth it. This is so worth it. You’ve never been more willing to try at something in your life. If shit gets hard, it gets hard. He’s _worth_ it.

It’s a solid ten minutes before the two of you fully break off, both out of breath. Dave doesn’t move very far from you, and rather leans his forehead gently against yours. You shut your eyes for a second, enjoying the moment.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asks quietly, and when your eyes open, you can see the uncertainty in his. You hold his gaze though, taking in a small breath, and flick your head just the tiniest bit. 

“Really? You’re positive? Don’t need to think about it? Fucking, write an essay out, pros and cons. Pros, Dave Strider. Cons, also Dave Strider.”

“Oh my god. You can do so many more useful things with your mouth,” you complain, rolling your eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. As long as you’re sure.”

“What, and say no to the man who stole my heart with literally no words at all?”

You shove him lightly with your elbow, trying to scowl, but you think it comes across as more of a grin. You hate him so much; almost as much as you love him.

“Kiss me again,” you demand, instead of answering, and the smile Dave rewards you with is dazzling. His lips press back into yours, and you’re getting lost in the feel of him against your skin again. You honestly don’t think you could have made a better decision. 

Fuck it all, you’re ready to date Dave Strider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _... And that's all, folks!_  
> 
> 
> I think this is the last official chapter. God, I've been the absolute worse at updating, and sometimes there comes a time you need to throw down the cape. Put the cap on the bottle. Fucking, gut the fish and all. This is that time. This is the final organ in the carcass, so to speak.
> 
> I do have an idea for an epilogue, however! I really can't guarantee I'll get it up, but I'm going to do my damndest to try. This fic has been an incredible journey, and I've learned many important lessons (perhaps the best being: finish the entire fic, and THEN start posting chapters).
> 
> Good lord though, I've loved writing this, and hearing the feedback from all of you!! I'm so glad I got to go on this journey of sin, and I think I've grown from it. I hope you've all enjoyed this mess of writing as much as I have, and I'm so grateful you've all stuck around!! Even with my pathetic lack of updates, you've all been incredibly supportive. 
> 
> Ahhhhh! As I said, I'll do my best to write up a quick epilogue in the near future. Thanks so much again for taking this journey with me! I love you all, and god bless davekat.
> 
> If you have any questions, or just want to talk headcanons, feel free to hit me up on [my tumblr](http://kissoftreachery.tumblr.com)! I love talking to new people. 
> 
> And with that - So long, farewell auf wiedersehen, adieu.


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